100 Psych Oneshots
by VickyVicarious
Summary: Just what the title says. Using a hundred different prompts, I'm writing 100 Psych one-shots, of varying lengths. Specific warnings/spoiler alerts will be at the beginning of each new one. All characters/genres considered free game.
1. Introduction

**1) Introduction**

"Hi, I'm Shawn Spencer and this is my sidekick, Burton 'Magichead' Guster…"

"…my client, 'Crusher'; please don't upset him…"

"…my number-two, Billford Garbickle…"

"…my attendant; I simply call him attendant. Attendant, why don't you get us some coffee while we talk..."

"…my caddie. Don't bother speaking to him, he only knows Portuguese…"

"…my assistant, Dolph Finn…"

"…my boyfriend, George O'Malley. He's dumb as a rock, but just _look_ at those thighs…"

"…my psychic-message decipherer, Burton Guster, known in some circles as 'Chuckles the Clown'…"

"…my babysitter, since apparently you think I can't take care of myself, Dad…"

"…my ride, because I crashed my bike the other day; I was going off this big jump and then it slipped in a puddle and the next thing I knew…"

"…my secretary; he can type over 600 words a minute, I swear he's in the Guinness world records…"

"…my pineapple supplier; bring the next load in on Tuesday, okay Grunty?…"

"…my walking, talking, occasionally squeaking, credit card. Of course, he has yet to figure that out…"

"…my chauffeur, of course. Jeeves the Fourth; he comes from a long line of chauffeurs that…"

"…my dog-walker. I'm afraid the knee injury has stopped me from being able to keep up with Mooch any longer…"

"…my imaginary friend, Mr. Sauerkraut. Sometimes he morphs into Elvis when the aliens fly by…"

"…my best friend, Burton Guster, also known as Boring McSourpuss…"

"…my brother. And as long as I have any life left in me, I swear you aren't getting within two _miles_ of Gus without me kidnapping your sick, insane, note-leaving ass, and personally demonstrating to you every _single_ way he's worth getting sent to prison for torture and homicide, got it? _Got it?_ Leave my brother alone."


	2. Love

Shules ahoy! And it's from Juliet's POV.  


* * *

**2) Love**

"Jules…"

I swallow hard and break his gaze, dipping my head so that I'm looking at the ground and completely avoiding his eyes. "You know what, Shawn, I think I should go now."

His hand catches my arm and I can't help it; a full-body shiver runs through me at the feel of his skin touching mine, and my head comes up –

His hazel eyes are right there, big and serious for once, and the look in them is enough for me to actually draw in a sharp breath, making a little _oh!_ noise.

And then his other hand comes up to catch my chin, tilting it up just a little bit, his thumb rubbing little circles on my cheek. And suddenly, as his face moves closer and closer to mine, all the worried, all the sensible, all the _responsible_ parts of me have gone silent, and the only part left is the one that wants this, that wants it so much I can't move or breathe, or do anything but shake and stare as he comes closer, closer…

His lips touch mine softly, then with more pressure, and that pressure is all I need to suddenly break out of my daze, and before I know it, my hands are around his neck and I'm kissing him back like my life depends on it… His arms encircle me just as my knees buckle, and I almost want to cry when his lips leave mine to plant a trail of kisses along my cheekbone, and I breathlessly gasp out,

"God, Shawn… I love you."

And then he's gone, two steps back in shock, and I've got my hands covering my mouth in horror, and his eyes are as wide as dinner plates. He takes one, two, three deep breaths, and then comes the attempt to talk to me:

"J-Jules… Juliet, I… I don't… I thought we were just having some _fun_…"

And every night, when I wake up in tears, I'm reminded by my dream how much of a mistake it would be.

But even so, I have a feeling that when he tries, really _tries_, I'm not going to say no, and my responsible parts will take a vacation, and I'm going to let him kiss me, and I'm going to have to watch him walk away. And all I can do is hope that he never tries, and go out on dates with other people, completely unlike him, and try to make this feeling fade.

Because he's not the kind of guy who's going to fall for me, no matter how much I love him. And he won't – doesn't – want to hurt me.

Which will just make it hurt that much more.


	3. Light

**3) Light**

Lassiter's desk lamp was flickering.

He had woken up that morning at two AM, to his neighbor's frenzied cries for help. Her 'burglar' turned out to be her own cat, but he'd been unable to go to sleep afterwards. Giving up on even trying, he took a shower at three, and in the process of getting out, slipped and sprained his wrist. He'd bandaged it himself, and made himself breakfast, and began to do something he'd been avoiding for nearly two years; go through his ex-wife's things. It was traumatic to say the least, and he couldn't continue it beyond four o'clock, sitting down heavily, with memories of her running on a repeating loop through his brain.

At 5:30, he finally left for work, still earlier than normal; by then he was so bored he couldn't stand staying at home alone. Halfway there, his car broke down, and he discovered he'd forgotten to charge his cell phone, prompting him to trudge five miles in the rain to get a phone and call for someone to pick him up. Buzz had done so, cheerfully giving him a coffee at the end of the ride, by which point he was now _late_ for work.

Lassiter had cradled the coffee in his hands, the expression on his face closely approaching bliss as he drank… only to be run into by some beat cop, spilling the coffee all over himself. What had followed ended in aching knuckles and him being yelled at by the Chief for over an hour, _and_ fined.

Finally reaching the relative safety of his desk, Lassiter collapsed there in relief, eyes closed for a long moment as he breathed slowly in and out through his nose. Finally relaxing, he turned to his work, flicking on his desk lamp and beginning to write…

Then the lamp began to flicker.

Detective Carlton Lassiter couldn't stand to be distracted while working. He had managed to perfect the art of selective deafness to degrees never before seen by man in order to ignore random noises but still be able to hear things that pertained to him or his cases specifically. He kept his eyes trained tightly on the pages of his work and had managed to train himself to not look up or follow movements he saw out of the corners of his eyes. He kept his desk extremely neat so that no clutter would get in his way. All of these adjustments to working in an open space, he had successfully made. But one thing he could not stand, could _not_ stand, was shadows flickering across pages he was reading. That was why he had the desk lamp; it was the perfect size and orientation to cover his desk in a steady light. Always.

It buzzed, and flickered again.

Lassiter snapped. Leaping up from his desk, he snatched the lamp, pulled it up high, and flung it with all his might at the floor. Still plugged in, the bulb exploded in a mass of sparks and flying glass, causing several screams and cries of shock.

Lassiter glared down at it, then turned bloodshot eyes to the rest of the station, and screamed out, "Anything _else_ one of you wants to do to me? Huh? Is there any other _possible_ way for any of you to make my day worse? Come on, lay it on me!"

Receiving no replies, he swore loudly and kicked his chair, knocking it over, before striding rapidly out of the station without another word. Cops, civilians, and criminals alike rushed to clear a path for the seemingly insane man.

Shawn, hiding around a column from Lassiter's desk, winced as the main doors slammed loudly, and shot Gus a furtive look. "Dude, I think you were right. Maybe I _did_ go too far…"

His friend nodded in an odd combination of smugness and fear. "Never mess with a dedicated worker's desk light, Shawn. It's just _asking_ for trouble."


	4. Dark

**4) Dark**

Karen Vick always remembered the day that Shawn had joined the team.

She had known he was lying, she had known there was no way he could be psychic, but the important thing was that she was a woman and only Interim Chief, and she was pregnant and getting threats from higher-ups who said that she should drop certain cases, and solve some cold ones, and she was being overwhelmed, and all she needed was a miracle.

Or at least a facsimile of one.

Shawn didn't know her, but she knew him. She had known of Henry's son, in her capacity of his partner. By that time, Shawn was gone, on a road trip of all things, but she still learned. She had learned about the poker games, where Shawn used to clear the whole force of all their cash, and the interrogation rooms, where he would witness his dad interrogate someone from behind the mirror, then walk up to him and make a statement: "He's guilty," which always turned out to be right. She'd even learned that he'd been arrested by his own father, and spent the night in the holding cell singing commercials at the top of his lungs.

She remembered all of it, and she knew he wasn't psychic. What he was, though, was someone who could help her, and that was all that mattered.

So she put him on her toughest case, and sure enough, it was solved within days. She kept him around, and tolerated Lassiter's complaints and O'Hara's occasional looks, because of two reasons.

She remembered, and Henry had supported him.

And yes, she also tolerated Shawn's insane 'visions' because she knew that it wasn't one of those things you could just stamp down; _Shawn_ wasn't one of those things. Shawn was the kind of guy who was always there, always annoying you, always loud, always unruly, always…

Except when he was gone, the place just seemed a little… dark.

And Karen Vick knew, all too well, how working in a police station, especially certain areas, could slowly bog down a person, could cause them to stop believing things could turn out okay, and no amount of help from 'outsiders' would ever _be_ help, because they didn't know what you went through…

Henry had helped her through that. And now Shawn was there, overly ridiculous and crazy, but amusing and always cheerful, and she knew that the previously serious station would never survive without him. Especially not her Head Detective and his Junior Partner.

Because you can't just show someone how good something can be – how cheerful, how happy, how light – and then take it away. It's much worse than never having it.

So Karen Vick remembers, and she's always a little less harsh than Shawn maybe deserves, and she lets him try to barge in on all her cases, and she always smiles a little when she can see or hear him through her door.

Because the station would be dark without him.


	5. Seeking Solace

**5) Seeking Solace**

Gus was often seen as Shawn's sidekick – hell, most frequently by Shawn himself! Shawn's dad thought of him as Shawn's best friend, as the guy who kept Shawn out of trouble when possible, and was frequently led into trouble by Shawn. Lassiter and Juliet, in fact, _all_ the people at the police station, thought of Gus as Shawn's tag-along, the friend who was always there, and to some degree annoying too (in Lassiter's case) or somewhat funny (in Juliet's) or kind of helpful (in the Chief's), but never the important one. He never took center stage. Shawn could function perfectly well without him. And everyone else just needed Shawn, not him.

But the thing was, none of those other people knew how _Shawn_ thought of Gus, and that was as anything _but_ a sidekick, despite what he said. Though Shawn had inherited his father's reluctance to discuss deep feelings, Gus could see right through his friend, which was why he was still best friends with Shawn.

If he hadn't been able to _tell_, he wouldn't have tolerated it when Shawn blew him off, or lied about him, or lied _to_ him, or played pranks on him, or blamed things on him. If he hadn't been able to _tell_, and if Shawn had never come to him. But he could, and Shawn had.

Gus was Shawn's 'safe person'. The one person who, no matter what, no matter how mad or annoyed he felt, was still there for Shawn. The one who Shawn could go to for help with anything. The one who Shawn could let his guard down around.

The first time Gus had had any inkling of this, was back in eighth grade. Not-quite-high-schoolers, he and Shawn had nonetheless thought themselves to be grown-ups, beyond things like parents and getting grounded. Of course, that was all ridiculous, but the important thing was that despite this, when Gus was upset, he went to his parents and Shawn.

But when Shawn showed up at midnight at his window one night, pretending not to have tear streaks on his face and brushing off Gus' questions about his parents, "Oh, they're just having a little fight," and stayed most of the night, getting up and going home just before dawn… that was when Gus realized that Shawn had no one else but him.

And, after countless other nights like that first, when it had got to the point where Gus left his window unlocked and kept an unrolled sleeping bag with blanket and pillow under his bed, and his alarm set to 4:30 for Shawn, he was finally, openly, asked for help.

It had been years, and Shawn had slowly revealed what the 'little fights' consisted of (screaming and flinging, and quite frequently the word "Shawn" used as a weapon), and his parents were now separating. In fact, they'd managed to agree on everything, except for who got Shawn.

This time, when Shawn showed up, he didn't bother to hide his tears and he didn't try to go to sleep. Instead, he'd looked Gus straight in the eye and asked, "Gus, do you think it's my fault?"

That had been the first time Gus really understood, and the first time he'd really consoled Shawn.

And that night, when they both fell asleep too late and slept in too far, and Shawn was found the next morning, along with Shawn's sleeping bag, and several other belongings he permanently kept in Gus's room, Gus realized that he'd always been Shawn's sort of sanctuary. And probably always would be, despite the fact that sleepovers were no longer viable options.

So even when Shawn left for three years after getting arrested by his father, and even when he left again for nearly five years after a maybe two-day visit, and even when he ignored Gus, or lied to him, or lied _about_ him, or made fun of him, or played pranks on him, or blamed him for things, Gus was okay with it.

Because Shawn always wrote to him, and he always asked how Gus was, and he always asked _Gus_ for help, and he always told Gus when he really _was_ scared, and he always visited Gus on the important occasions, and he had Gus first on his list of important contacts and gave him power of attorney if he was hurt too badly to choose for himself, and he always, _always_ relied on Gus, no matter what he said.

He _always_ went to Gus when he needed to know someone trusted him, or believed in him, or wasn't disappointed in him, or understood him, or even if they didn't, would still be there for him.

And Gus, because he knew this, _was_ always there for him, no matter what it looked like to other people. Because he alone knew that without him, Shawn would never be okay. Without him, Shawn would never last.


	6. Break Away

**6) Break Away**

When his son had first left, barely days after his high school graduation, Henry had been struck with the feeling that he should have seen this coming. Something told him that his son skipping town wasn't such a bolt from the blue as it seemed, and asking other people confirmed this.

"_What, you didn't see that coming, Henry?"_ – His partner – _"The kid hates your guts."_

Gus – _"Um, Mr. S-Spencer… Shawn hasn't actually wanted to go to college __**or**__ be a cop since we were about twelve. He actually – he __**really**__ doesn't want to be a cop."_

Apparently even the neighbor knew it. _"Shawn? Well yeah, just last week he was talking Mexico. Said he wanted to travel around before settling down. He told me you guys had talked about it."_

So obviously, Henry (despite being the SBPD's best detective with a _nearly_ perfect memory) was missing something. And had been, for quite a while. But still… somehow, he couldn't help but be shocked. Sure, he'd _known_ things were strained after the arrest… But he'd thought he'd made his point then, thought that Shawn had gotten over it.

And yeah, he _had_ missed Shawn's graduation… but there was an important homicide, which he couldn't just set aside for a few hours! Shawn had caught a ride home with Gus, anyway. And he'd asked him about it once he got home, though Shawn had been quieter than normal, and seemed to have a much shorter fuse when Henry began to lay into him for not getting valedictorian.

With a sudden shock, Henry suddenly realized that he hadn't actually talked to his son – barring lectures or fights – in days. Weeks, even. Months? When had this happened?

He remembered, back when he and Madeleine had first discovered their son's talents – he had memorized the game with the four lights, knowing how to beat it every time, no matter how long or complex the code, to the point where even Henry failed – and he'd decided.

He'd already known Shawn would be a police officer. Just like him, and his father, and his grandfather… carrying on the family tradition. But that was when he realized exactly what Shawn would be.

The best police detective ever to grace Santa Barbara.

He had all the potential; he was smart (qualified for Mensa), a quick learner (often surpassing his teacher before the teacher finished the lesson) had highly impressive deductive skills (aided by Henry's many lessons), and of course his photographic memory. Shawn was incapable of forgetting any detail, something that, while at times traumatic or embarrassing, was an invaluable asset once Henry taught him to control it, to the point where Shawn could close his eyes and say how many hats were (and who was wearing them) in a crowded diner, even describing the hats.

The only thing he lacked was discipline.

Sure, at first Shawn had been excited about his 'destiny', but at some point, his feet began to drag when Henry called him forward for a lesson; his answers mumbled rather than exclaimed; some Halloween, he grew tired of the police uniform, complaining that he never got to wear something else; some day, he began to take pleasure in tricking or outmaneuvering his father.

Sure, Shawn had always been mischievous. But Henry was disturbed to realize that if he really thought about it, he couldn't recall the first time he'd seen his son smirk at him, excited to have beat his dad. It just seemed to have always been there.

So, Henry wondered, as he fished silently the night after he found Shawn's clothes missing –

"_Dad, I've got something, I've got something!" Shawn excitedly tried to reel in the fish, a grin splitting his face. _

_Henry hurried to his side and cheered his son on until Shawn finally managed to pull aboard his first ever catch, holding it up with a big grin. For a moment, the boy continued to grin, but he soon noticed his father's lack of a smile._

"_Shawn. That fish is too small, we can't cook that! Toss it back in, and try again. And try not to drop any more worms before you get them on the hook, okay?"_

– when had it stopped being lessons and training and become a war. When had Shawn stopped wanting to be a cop? When had he snapped the line, broken free, decided not to continue down the path Henry had chosen for him?

A fish caught on the line, and Henry automatically began to reel it in, his eyes not really focused on the fish's flopping body as –

_Shawn glanced from the much bigger fish on his line to his father, and back again, as he began to reel it in._

"_That's it, Shawn, you can tell this guy's a big one! You got him, you can do it!"_

_He pulled it close, wincing when a wave rocked the boat and he heard the fish collide with the side, making a __**thunk**__ noise._

_Shawn looked at his excited father once more, a smile beginning to spread across his face…_

"_Shawn, bring your rod up more! That's not the hold I taught you!"_

_The smile disappeared, and before Shawn knew what was going on, he'd surreptitiously snuck his pocket-knife into his left hand, out of sight. Still struggling to get the fish aboard, he bent over and snicked the line in two, letting out a 'shocked' yell when he fell over._

_Crawling to the side, in the process putting away the knife, Shawn bent over the side, unable to contain a smile when he saw the fish float still for a second, as if in shock; then its tail gave one powerful wiggle and it was gone._

_Henry was yelling at him, something about being careless and losing their dinner, but Shawn's eyes were fixed on the point in the water where the fish had fell free. Granted, it had a hook in its jaw, but that beat being dinner any day._

_As he glanced up at his father, he couldn't contain a little smirk._

– his phone rang, and Henry swore, forgetting about the fish as he reached for it. He'd known he should have stayed at home, but he couldn't stand just sitting around, doing nothing. But maybe the APB had picked something up…

"Henry Spencer."

The voice over the line made him drop his pole. _"Henry. Would you care to get rid of the APB you've placed on my son?"_

Henry instantly scowled. "_**My**_ son is missing, and I'm not getting rid of it until I know where he is."

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. _"He's with me, Henry. He's been helping get me set up, helping me recover from all the… recent stress."_

"What, me suing you for the house and winning?"

"_And the divorce, yes. Point is, he's fine. He's here, with me."_ A pause. _"And he's helping me get in business here. He's also working at a gym nearby. He has a real job, Henry. Not what you wanted, but he enjoys it. Can't you let him have his own life? It's about time he broke free from your ridiculous expectations."_

Henry didn't say a word, just closed the call and turned the boat towards home.

He knew he'd missed something, but he couldn't quite pinpoint when. The point, though, was that he knew it was too late. His son was gone and there was no way he was coming back any time soon. He might as well take a leaf from Shawn's book and give up.

After all, Shawn had made his loyalties clear. He'd made it obvious what he would and wouldn't do.

He'd chosen his own path.

Henry should just give up on him. There would be no more –

"_Next time we'll get him, buddy." Henry ruffled Shawn's hair, and the boy smiled wordlessly._

"_Right dad. We'll get him, next time. And next time, he won't get loose."_

– second chances.


	7. Heaven

**7) Heaven**

Most people think that I don't understand what it's like to be in a relationship. They don't think that I have the capacity to be a long-term guy, or even someone with whom serious dating is possible.

I help those people believe that by the way I act. I'm always joking, never taking anything seriously. And I have one-night stands all the time. And I flirt with everyone. I don't even commit to jobs for any length of time, proof of a wandering spirit if there ever is one.

But that's been changing recently. I've been here, doing Psych for over a year, and I don't want to stop, not at all. And no, I haven't stopped flirting, or stopped the one-night stands, but I think that at least some people – okay, maybe only Gus – understand that I think of this as my serious, real job. Something I'm not going to leave or stop doing.

And now I have people, people that I really care about. Sure, I make friends easily, but I've never really had people who I really like enough, who have actually made themselves a place in my emotions to stay. Until now, it's been Gus and Dad and Mom. And that's it.

But now I have Buzz and Jules and Lassy and even the Chief and I can't imagine working somewhere, and doing something else without any of them.

But especially Jules. Somehow, during the time she's been here, Juliet O'Hara has managed to make me really care about her. More than care. Like her in a way I've never liked anyone before, not even back in middle school when I was too shy to do more than look and Molly Roberts asked me out.

Like her in a way that gives me little fluttery feelings every time she laughs, and makes me want to be there to watch every laugh, to record them permanently in my memory, every single laugh and giggle and smile she'll ever have again.

Like her in way that makes me keep on asking her out, and really meaning it no matter how joking I sound and no matter how much I brush off her answers, because every time she says no I want to beg her, to tell her I'm serious and please, please Jules…

Like her in a way that converts me completely to those bogus little speed-dating questionnaires, and makes me pray that she believes in horoscopes and wonder if I should tell her the truth.

Like her in a way that means that when we're close-talking and I know that I could just lean forward a little tiny bit more and no matter what she said about mistakes I know she wouldn't push me away, I don't. Instead, I pull back and walk away.

Because just this once, in all the years I've dated, I actually care about her. I care about her more than I should and if it weren't for Psych I would be out of here, on another trip to Mexico, running away and hoping these feelings would stay in Santa Barbara rather than follow me. I care about her in way that means every night I lie awake and _thank_ my dad for making me like this, so I can close my eyes and perfectly relive when she smiles, or hugs me, or laughs.

Okay, fine. I love her.

And no, it doesn't stop me from flirting with other people, or making dates with other women, because if I did then people would _know_ – Gus, and my dad, and it would spread from there.

And thanks to my dad who wouldn't even say that he loved me when I was a kid, I can't _do_ feelings and if anyone knew I'd never be able to talk to her at all and this way has to be better than that.

Because this way, she nearly kissed me and she didn't like it when I joked she'd already had her shot and she watches me and I _know_ that there will come a time when I strike just the perfect balance and she won't think it's a mistake.

At least, I hope it will happen. I know she thinks I'm not responsible enough. So I'm trying, I really am. And I'm hoping that maybe somebody – Gus, and I want to tell him so he can help me but if he knows I know I won't be able to handle it, just knowing that he knows – will tell her what a big deal it is that I didn't kiss her, that I'm still doing Psych, that I don't use the fact that I know exactly how to trick her if I want to, exactly how to get her into bed with me for one night only if I tried, against her.

Because all of it means that I'm trying. All of it means that I'm changing. Maybe slowly, but it's still happening.

And some day, because I'm an optimist and I'm observant enough to know she likes me at least a little, I think she'll acknowledge that. And maybe she'll say yes when I ask her to Tom Blair's that night. And I'll be shocked, but glad.

And we'll go out and I'll keep joking around and trying to keep her from realizing, but we'll reach a point just like after that bounty hunter thing where I say something or touch her arm and – _bam!_ – electricity.

And she won't say anything about mistakes and we'll finally kiss and I'll try and show her without words again, show her how I feel and we won't sleep together that night which will tell her even more and I'll ask her out again and she won't say no and I won't give up.

And then after a little while she'll realize I'm not flirting so much – I still will a little, because I can't _help_ it – and there are no attempts on my part to get dates or break up with her, and maybe she'll eventually realize what it means.

And we'll go out that night, and I'll tell her, when I'm kissing her and maybe she won't say it back but she'll _know_ and she won't leave, and we'll probably consummate everything then.

And we won't break up, and we'll beat all my records of dating people – granted, that record is only a month but I'll tell her anyway – and she'll stand up to people like Lassy and my dad and maybe she'll finally say it.

And that will be when I might want to run away, but I won't be able to because of the way I'll feel, because I'll know she really meant it and it'll be _heaven_, I know it will.

So right now I'm going to keep on flirting and having one-night stands and asking her out and I'm not going to leave Psych and if I ever get a chance I'll snatch it.

Because I'm really looking forward to when I get to heaven.


	8. Innocence

**8) Innocence**

The first dream is innocence itself.

_Hand holding, walking along the beach, chatting about work and friends._

And as time goes by, it maybe morphs a little, becomes less innocent.

_They turn to look at each other and stop dead, and they smile and lean forward and_

But she always wakes up before anything really happens, so it's okay.

And maybe there comes a night when she doesn't wake up in time, but it's only once, it's no big deal, right?

"_I love you so much," she murmurs, and he smiles, stroking his fingers around her waist and planting a little butterfly kiss on her nose._

"_I love you too."_

Okay, so maybe it's _kind_ of serious, but it's not like there's anything she can do about it, it's only a dream. After all, she's asleep. It's not like she's thinking about this stuff happening when she's awake.

_He walks up to her desk and smiles at her, and her heart speeds up, even more so when he leans over her desk and kisses her, without a word of explanation and she doesn't stop him, just grabs his shoulders and kisses back and_

Okay, so she daydreamed. Well, it still meant nothing. She daydreams about actors, and she certainly wouldn't really want to date one of them.

"_Want to get a bite?"_

"_Sure."_

So she goes out with him. It's not like he wants it to be a date. He doesn't even pay for her. And so what if they go for a walk on the beach after, chatting about work and friends, and their hands occasionally touch.

_They stop and look at each other and he touches her shoulder gently, pulling her face forward just a little and her eyes flutter closed and his lips touch hers…_

It doesn't happen. The 'date' ends with a smile and a wave, and it's innocence itself.

And nothing else happens.

But even so, meeting him about his _son_, years later, Karen Vick – it's Vick now because she's married, so she's obviously over him – can't help but feel a little nervous and when he smiles at her, and even though their meeting is innocence itself, she feels guilty, like she's cheating on her husband in her head.

_They walk down the beach, holding hands…_

But she isn't. She never did.

* * *

You totally thought it was Shules, didn't you? PSYCH!


	9. Drive

**9) Drive**

Some people drive to escape things (Shawn, leaving Santa Barbara on his own for the first time on his motorcycle, with no job and no prospects and nothing but his clothes and charm, and the urge to escape from his father).

Some people drive to get to things (Juliet, leaving Miami on her own for the first time, eyes bright and looking forward excitedly to her dream career awaiting her in Santa Barbara, alone except for her parents, only a phone call away, and her two cats in the backseat).

And when the two meet, sometimes there are crashes ("Do I know you?" – "Yes. _You_ are the girl who took my seat!") and sometimes there aren't (A smile and nod in acknowledgement).

But there's always a kind of crackle between the two, because they either don't mesh at all (not) or they fit a little _too _well (true), which leads to uncomfortable situations (a 100 match).

It's because what drives them is so similar, though they drive so differently. Shawn is an overly relaxed, silly, clever, flirty, unprofessional who keeps his real feelings hidden under a thick layer of jokes. Juliet is a relaxed but still alert, serious, smart, happy, professional that is almost too open and easily hurt, but has hidden depths with more strength and determination than she is granted.

But they are both driven by similar needs: to prove themselves (to his father; to her family of _successful_ brothers), to do what's right (even if he has to lie; no matter what hoops that she despises she must jump through), to stay cheerful (despite how his entire life is a lie; no matter what others say about her never lasting), and to be themselves (even when others think less of him; even when others think less of her).

So they fit together just a little better than they like, and it makes them both nervous (he's never cared before; she can't see how this will ever end well for her) but its in their (similar) natures to keep on driving (away while approaching her; moving closer even as she thinks she's pedaling back).

A crash is inevitable (their lips meet and all protests die away as they move together and the world is melting because it's like a car crash, picking them up and flinging them into the air, leaving them stunned and shaken, clutching each-other as though they'll never last without the others support, and they can't help but do it again because it's so perfect, no matter how chaotic or terrifying) and maybe not such a bad thing.

And no matter how fast they go (way over the speed limit, he's not concerned with safety or comfort when he can have _exhilaration_) or how hard they try to stop (at _least_ at the speed limit, or under, because she doesn't want to get hurt and she thinks the ride is often worth as much as the destination) they meet and from there its over.

They no longer run away ("I'm not going to leave you, Jules.") and they let themselves go ("I love you, Shawn") and it's weird and scary.

But that's who they are, and they can't stop it any more than they can stop being who they are, what they are driven to be.


	10. Breathe Again

**10) Breathe Again**

No one knows why he chose to retire when he did.

_In…_

They all have their theories; John Fenich, the police chief at the time, believes Henry was overwhelmed by all the death and the warped minds he dealt with every day. He thinks it had become too much for Henry to deal with.

_Out…_

Karen Vick, his ex-partner, thinks that after the divorce and Shawn leaving, Henry no longer had a separate home life where he could escape from work. She thinks that he knew if he hadn't left, then he would have become too obsessed with work, to the point where he had no joy left over.

Various police officers speculate that he was devastated by the loss of his wife, and the police station reminded him too much of her.

_In…_

Madeleine Spencer has two opinions: professionally, as a criminal psychologist, she believes that her ex-husband, while an amazing detective, and while he would never show it to most people, was far more affected by his cases than others knew.

_Out…_

Professionally, she thinks getting out is him consciously realizing and acting on the fact that he couldn't keep doing the same job and keep any faith that people have good in them. But unprofessionally – privately – she is of the opinion that he retired to further distance himself from her, even though she knows how ridiculous that notion is.

Burton Guster thinks that Henry no longer really enjoyed police work once he knew Shawn would never follow in his footsteps, would never continue his legacy. He believes his best friend's dad's life centers far more around his son than Henry ever knew. He also believes that Henry didn't realize this consciously, but that no matter what other people (or Henry himself) say, Shawn is at the heart of the matter.

_In…_

After meeting Henry Spencer, Juliet O'Hara is surprised he retired. But when he tells her, in a serious voice, that she should never show her feelings on the surface so much, that she'll only end up hurt, she believes that is what happened to him. Especially once she learns that his old partner died.

Carlton Lassiter never voices an opinion, simply saying that there comes a time for every police officer – especially detectives – when they know it's time to get out. And that none of them should ever have to explain themselves. But secretly, he agrees with both his partner and his old mentor; the loss of his partner combined with the constant death and hatred just became too much for the man, and he knew his own limits. Secretly, he respects Henry more for knowing to get out before he ever becomes a liability to the force.

_Out…_

Shawn jokes that his father wanted to have more time to make his life miserable. But he actually has no clue. It's one of the few things in life he has no opinion on. He has all the evidence; he knows everyone's opinions, and he knows that his father's partner died. He knows that his mother left, and that he himself had something to do with it. He knows how much Henry loved the SBPD, and how much he sacrificed for it. And he knows all of it has something to do with the reason.

But most of all, he remembers his father's face, in the months before he left on his road trip, which was itself only months before the man retired. He remembers how everything his father said seemed absent-minded, everything he did seemed rushed, and how Henry was so much quicker to anger then more than ever before.

_In…_

And for once in his life, Shawn can't quite put it all together. He has theories of course, hundreds of them. But none of them feel _right_. None of them creates that feeling of triumph, that joy that comes from having figured it out.

So he's the only one that realizes he doesn't – and won't ever – know.

However, Henry Spencer himself knows.

_Out…_

Henry Spencer is fully aware of the reason he no longer solves cases and fights crime. He too remembers the months leading up to the decision.

Those were the months when he realized how little he had for himself. He never went fishing anymore; he barely talked to his son, and no longer had a wife; he no longer really even enjoyed cracking cases and solving the mysteries; the death of his partner had hit him very hard; he was never happy anymore, yelling and snapping at people for nothing.

_In…_

But he would have kept on working in spite of those, in spite of the feeling that he was slowly being suffocated, because he knew he was doing good and he wouldn't stop as long as he was doing good.

_Out…_

At least, until the day he woke up alone, sick and unable to leave to go to work, no matter how much he wanted to. For several long hours he worried about his cases, before finally putting them out of his mind, and turning on the TV.

Halfway through the news he realized he was holding his breath as he watched footage of a woman being pulled from a fire. When she was announced safe, he should have relaxed, should have let out the air in a rush of breath – but he didn't, anxiously watching the live feed of the still burning house.

_In…_

He wasn't looking for anything. He didn't think it was going to explode, or that someone else was going to be found inside. In fact, as he thought about it, he realized _nothing_ was bothering him.

But he couldn't relax, couldn't let his breath go.

_Out…_

So when he gave his notice the next day, he knew why he was retiring, and it wasn't anything anyone else thought, though all of them were at least a little right.

And even though he knew it would be hard, even though he knew it would take years before he could ever really achieve it, he also knew he had to do it.

_In…_

He had to learn how to stop moving all the time, to stop being tense always, to relax and to not worry; it was essential that he learn how to do _nothing_, but sit still and…

He had to learn how to breathe again.

_Out._


	11. Memory

**11) Memory **

She might not have a memory like he does, but that doesn't mean she's forgotten.

The first time…

_His eyes are bright and a shade of green that she doesn't remember ever seeing before. They shine and she finds herself staring at them dazedly, her own eyes almost completely unfocused. As a result, she jumps when he steps closer._

"_What is it, Shawn?" Her voice is unnaturally high and squeaky, and she really wishes she hadn't bothered to say anything, especially when his serious face morphs into a cocky smirk. _

_He takes another step closer, and she backs up, not even realizing what she's doing. They proceed in that manner until her back hits the wall, and she shoots it a frantic look, whimpering._

_She doesn't know why she's so terrified, no more than she knows why she's suddenly got goosebumps and her throat has closed up._

_Shawn appears to know, though, as he tilts his head, his smirk becoming even more knowing. He takes another step forward, and now there's only about an inch of air between them. Suddenly he stops moving, leaving Juliet breathing swiftly and feeling a little too warm. _

_Why is she reacting like this? He hasn't even done anything…_

_Even as she thinks that, he slowly, carefully, leans his head forward until his mouth is next to her ear._

"_Happy Birthday, Jules," He says, his breath puffing into her ear, and suddenly she reacts in a full-out body shiver, swallowing around the lump in her throat. A chuckle by her ear tells her that he noticed, and suddenly, his feet take the final step closer, pressing his body against hers._

_His hands reach up to rub from her shoulders down her arms and back up, his touch leaving burning paths on her skin._

_Juliet opens her mouth but chokes on her words when he draws his head back and those eyes suddenly pierce her again. The smirk is gone, an honest smile instead tilting up the corners of his lips as he leans closer, closer…_

_His lips move, barely touching hers, even as her eyes fall closed and her hands flex convulsively against the wall behind her._

"_Just to clarify… We __**aren't**__ close-talking right now."_

"…_Oh?"_

_He shakes his head slowly, his stubble brushing her cheeks. "No. This is definitely…"_

_His lips purse and he presses just that little bit closer, one hand sliding into her hair, the other reaching up to caress her cheek. Juliet's eyes are already closed, but when he kisses her she can't __**not**__ react… Granted, even she is surprised by the desperation of her reaction, when her arms lift to wrap around his neck and her lips respond by pressing hard against his._

_Her fingers finally slide into his hair, as they've been itching to do for months, she can feel his grin on her face even as he presses closer into her, her entire body singing with the contact and the feel of his lips on hers…_

_He gently pulls back, both of them breathing hard. "Kissing," he finishes his earlier sentence. "That was __**definitely**__ kissing."_

_There's a momentary pause where Juliet is utterly stunned and horrified; the word __**mistake**__ rushes through her brain… but then suddenly she smiles and laughs out loud, and he laughs too, and then they're kissing again and for the first time in a long while, she lets herself go._

The second time…

"_Shawn, I can't talk right now…" she sighs, aggravated with his inability to be serious. "Just… leave me alone, okay?"_

_For a moment, the ever-present grin on his face fades, and his brows furrow. "What's wrong?"_

"_Nothing… Just… I need some time to deal with things, okay?"_

_He's still frowning, but he nods, and before she can stop him, leans down to press a short, closed-mouth kiss to her surprised lips. He pulls away almost before she knows he kissed her, and whispers, "It __**is**__ serious for me, Jules. I'm serious about this."_

_Then he walks away, occasionally shooting her little nervous glances as he walks away. For a moment, she sits there stunned, knowing that the entire precinct is staring at her, Carlton particularly, but…_

_As she remembers what he said, a slow smile spreads across her faces, and two fingers silently press against her lips._

The third…

"_Well… goodnight."_

_He looks a little awkward, standing outside her door and trying to surreptitiously peek inside. Juliet tries to decide how she'll be able to give him the 'going slow' speech without hurting his feeling or messing this up, but even as she takes a deep breath to begin, he stops fidgeting, just leaning forward and kissing her._

_It's slow and sweet and even though she meant to pull away so as not to give him the wrong message, she finds herself sighing into his mouth, her eyes sliding closed and her hands wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer._

_She's not pulling away; no, instead, she's pressing closer and even uttering little moaning noises that would embarrass her greatly if she knew she was making them, and she's practically floating away, until suddenly he stops kissing her, and the hands that were sliding up her sides (causing pleasurable tingles where they touched) are yanked away, and he stumbles back, looking flustered._

_He's actually __**blushing**__ and she stares as he bites his lip and stammers out an apology: "I, I'm sorry, I know – I shouldn't have… Look, I didn't mean – I know you want to take it slow… I'll just, uh, leave…" He stumbles back down her stairs, almost tripping, and suddenly a wide smile spreads across her face because he understood without her saying it, and she laughs, shaking her head. _

"_It's fine Shawn."_

_He relaxes visibly, and tries to gather the shreds of his cool. "Right. Of course it is. Uh, I'll see you tomorrow." He waves and hops on his motorcycle, putting his helmet on and waving at her one last time before he drives away._

A grin spreads across her face, as she takes in the sight of him standing, forlorn and ashamed, in front of her.

Maybe she doesn't have a memory like his, but she remembers enough. And it's enough to let him off for this.

"We're good, Shawn. I forgive you."


	12. Insanity

**12) Insanity **

I'm not crazy.

They all think I am. They all call me a psycho, or deranged, demented, unhinged, loco, mad. But I'm not. I'm not any of them.

But they won't listen to me when I explain any of it, which is why I couldn't do it out in the open. It's why I had to do it like I did, hiding from the law and using fake names. Covering my tracks, because otherwise these people – who are good people, but just can't _understand_ me – would lock me up, and stop me from doing what I must.

They never would have caught me, if they hadn't called _him_ in.

The psychic. I confess I never believed in psychics before, but within two days of being put on the case, he was knocking at my door, asking me questions with a suspicious gaze.

I knew he'd be back. So I did what anyone would do in this situation – I followed him home, and hit him hard on the head, quickly tying him up and stowing him in the back of my car.

I came back home, and brought him to the basement. I tied him to a chair, and waited for him to wake up.

Once he did, I apologized for the discomfort I'd caused him. Frankly, I expected him to be upset: to scream or beg for me to let him go, or threaten me. But he was very polite.

"Oh, that's okay." He said. "This way I have a valid excuse for skipping dinner with my dad."

Mention of parents always upsets me, though. So when he said that, I didn't react as well as I could have.

"Why do you need an excuse? Why can't he just understand that you don't always want to visit, don't _want_ him prying in on your private life? What's _wrong_ with them?" I snarled. He didn't even look surprised. Just shrugged.

"My dad's okay. He's just lonely, now that he's retired. Not like your parents. Right, Lauren?"

He was smiling at me. It surprised me. I'm not ugly, but I'm not pretty either, and handsome men like him never smile at me. Not to mention the fact that I just kidnapped him. I mentioned this.

"Yeah, well…" he sighed. "I understand why you did it. I mean, I was going to turn you in to the police, after all."

My eyes narrowed, and I stood up straight. "I don't deserve to go to prison!"

He frowned, but it was different from most people's would have been. He looked like he was trying to understand. "I don't know, Lauren. I'd think killing both the parents of five kids merits quite a bit of time behind bars."

"No, it doesn't!" I was leaning forward, trying to explain. "Their parents were _horrible_. They hated them. The first child – just the day before I took action, his father had _spanked_ him! And his mother just watched!" Suddenly, his features twitched, but I was too busy explaining my side to ask about it. "And the second kid, Susie – her parents never listened to her. They were getting a divorce. They were arguing about who had to _take_ her, as if she were some unpleasant gift from a family member – you can't just get rid of it, but you don't actually _want_ it. And she was right there in the room when this went on!" This time, he definitely reacted, blinking hard and looking away from me. However, by the time I got to the next child, his eyes had met mine again.

"Fred's father and mother always wanted more of him. They always said to him, 'why can't you be more like your brother', and when he actually did something good, they didn't acknowledge him for it! They just said, 'if you could do that well in your other classes, maybe you'd have a better GPA'. They never appreciated him!

"And the twins… their parents never left them alone. Always suspicious, always wondering what trouble they were getting into. They never believed them when they said they were at the library, or out with some friends… They couldn't even trust their own children!"

As I finished my impassioned speech, I met his gaze worriedly. I wanted him to understand, and I knew I should act as logical as possible, but just talking about this made me feel so _angry_…

He spoke quietly, sympathetically. "But none of these kids had it as bad as you did, right Lauren? Their parents never beat them. Their parents wouldn't have dropped in on them years later, just to mock their life. Their parents weren't _nearly_ as bad as yours were."

I don't remember what happened next. I think I was so angry, I blacked out. But the next thing I know, I was standing in front of him, shaking, and holding my gun. He had a bruise blossoming on one cheek, and was bleeding from a large cut on his forehead.

He was talking. "…you killed them when they tried to hit you again, didn't you? What right did they have, to come into your life, over ten years later, and hurt you again? They _deserved_ to die."

Upon hearing this, I nearly dropped the gun. He actually _understood!_ "Yes…" I whispered, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "They deserved it."

He continued relentlessly. "And that's where you got the idea, wasn't it? You went to work the next day, cleaning the Mahoney's house, and saw them spanking Jason. And it made you so angry for him, you nearly attacked them right then. But you held it in, didn't you, because you _knew_ no one else would understand how necessary it was. You waited, and you came back the next day, and caught them separately, before he was home from school. You shot them both, right in the head, with that very gun. Didn't you? It's okay. I understand."

I couldn't believe it. He understood. He knew how I had done it, but he also knew why, and he didn't think I was crazy.

I was just nodding when the police burst in, guns raised. They do good work most of the time, but I know it was thanks to him that they caught me this time. He must have called them and told them where I lived, before he really knew what was going on. Before he realized that I was doing good.

I smiled at him when they locked me up, and I asked him to visit me, to continue my work. Both of them, and more. It felt like my tongue had been loosened. I started telling him how I'd done it, how he should do it. I described the feeling of joy that he'd get, every time one of them died, every time one of those monsters left this earth.

The police officers looked sickened as I talked to him, one woman covering her mouth and alternately staring at Shawn and me, and the one that had cuffed me shook me hard, snapping, "Shut your mouth!"

But I kept talking, even when they pulled me away from him, up the stairs. I called to him by name, "Shawn! Shawn, I know you understand!"

Then they had pulled me out of there, and into the squad car.

They pronounced me insane in court. That's why I'm here. And Shawn helped them. But I saw his face when he was giving his testimony. He looked upset. And then I realized.

He was only doing this because otherwise they would be onto him. He was actually _pretending_ he'd been stalling for time, and trying to get a confession from me, while he waited for the police to track him by his cell phone GPS. He was _pretending_ he'd been on their side, because they would catch him too, if he said he agreed. But I know he does.

And that means I'm not insane.


	13. Misfortune

This is just odd. Be warned. **Bold** is noises.

**13) Misfortune**

"Uh, Gus?"

"What is it, Shawn?"

"…I think we have a problem."

"It better not be anything big; my girlfriend is coming by. I want her to be impressed."

"What, by your psychic detective agency? I thought you said the girls never went for that, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary!"

"What evidence? There is no evidence!"

"Oh yeah? What about coffee shop girl? Or surfer chick? Or lovely sandwich-maker woman?"

"Who's lovely sandwich-maker woman?"

"Dude, you don't remember her? She had the red hair and the legs… and the sandwiches!"

"Oh, her! …Shawn, she didn't even go out with you!"

"Yeah, but still…" **Splat.** "Oh boy."

"Shawn? What was that noise?"

"Um, could you just come give me a hand?"

"No."

"Please, buddy, pal? …BFF? My go-to-guy? My Gussy-wussy? Gus? _Gu – us!_"

**Splat, thunk.**

"GUS! OW!"

"Shawn, what…?"

…

"I can't believe you."

"Gus, help me!"

"Shawn, Andrea will be here in ten minutes!"

**Splat.**

"That's why I need your help!"

"What were you _thinking?_"

"Uh… maybe, 'I'm hungry, why don't I make some delicious pineapple smoothies'?"

"And let's not forget: '…without the lid, so the smoothie flies everywhere and starts falling onto the floor in big, yellow splats, and lands all over my face and hair, not to mention the counter and Gus' _laptop bag!'_"

"Um… yeah, why not?" **Slap!** "Ow!"

"Shawn, I swear, I'm going to…" **Splat!** "Did you just _throw_ that at me?"

"Food fight!!"

"No, Shawn, I swear I'll – ahh!" **Splat! **"Stop it Shaw-" **Splat! **"Sha-"** Splat!** "Sto-" **Splat!** "STOP IT!" **…Splat!**

"Ha! Take that – well, _hello_, and welcome to Psych. How may I help you?"

"Uh, hi, I'm – Gus?!"

"Really? This is Gus too – oh…"

"Um. Hi, Andrea."

"What happened to you? Is that – is that _smoothie?_"

"Uh, well, you see…"

"On second thought – don't tell me."

"Right."

"Um. Yeah."

**Splat.**

"Hmm."

"Uh-huh…"

"Well, this is fun!"

"Shawn, I think you should know. I'm going to kill you!"

"Oh, Gus, don't be such a party-pooper!"

"Shawn, I am going to _peel_ your eyeballs, and make them into eyeball smoothies, and throw _that_ all over you, while you're still writhing in pain on the ground, and then I'm going to toss every _single_ one of your video games out the _window_! And then I'll – "

"Um, I have to go… Bye, Gus!"

**Slam!**

"…_Now_ look what you've done!"

"Well… this certainly is misfortunate… misfortunal? Defortunate?"

"Unfortunate."

"Whatever."

"Shut up Shawn."

**Squish. Splat.**

"That's the spirit, Gus!"

**Splat, thump!**

"Ow! Okay, fine, not the spirit. …Dude, you got it in my hair!"

"It was _already_ in your hair, Shawn."

"Yeah, but… You squished it in more… You wouldn't understand. Bald guy."

"Shut up."

**Squish. …Slurp.**

"You know, this is actually pretty yummy."

**Slurp.** "Huh. Yeah, it is."

**Slurp.**

**Slurp.**

**Slurp.**

"You know, you're cleaning this up.

**Slurp.** "Yeah. I know."

**Slurp.** "And buying me a new laptop bag."

**Slurp.** "Yeah."

**Slurp.** "And paying to clean my clothes."

**Slurp. **"Okay."

**Slurp.** "And explaining to Andrea."

**Slurp, sigh. **"I know, Gus."

**Slurp.**

**Slurp.**

"But you have to admit, it tastes better this way, doesn't it?"

**Splat!**

"Okay, fine, fine… Grumpy mean guy, doesn't appreciate a good smoothie when he tastes it... Or… sits in it…"

"Shut up, Shawn."


	14. Smile

**14) Smile**

Shawn considered himself to be an expert of body language; not only of the 'tells' for when someone is lying, but just body language in general. He automatically analyzed everything he saw – every twitch, glance, or sigh.

But what fascinated him, what had always fascinated him, was smiles.

He had first become interested in them at the age of ten, when he sat in on a meeting between his father and the mayor. The smile on the mayor's face fascinated him; it seemed oily and looked as though the mayor was laughing at them to himself. Shawn couldn't look away, and even when they left he kept glancing back, fascinated.

Ever since then, he had watched smiles. He hadn't enjoyed a party with a clown because, although the clown's voice was merry, his smile was strained as though it took all his effort not to drop it and start yelling. He avoided a new kid in school, because, although he was charming and even Gus liked him, his smile was cunning and calculated, and sure enough, before the end of the week people began missing things. Shawn had been nice to a teacher at school because, though she frowned all the time and was quick to yell, one day he saw her smiling as she looked out the window, and her smile was so sad Shawn thought she might be about to cry.

His father's smiles were rare but when they graced his lips, Shawn valued them all the more because he could see the genuine pride that lurked in the upturned corners of his mouth.

His mother's smiles came often and Shawn never felt lucky to get one, because even when she smiled at him and told him she loved him there was something else there; along with the love there was a certain detached sadness and distance that frightened him.

As he grew older, Shawn remained fascinated with smiles, though he never told anyone so. He learned what it looked like when a girl smiled at a boy she liked, or when someone smiled at someone they completely despised, or when someone smiled from genuine amusement.

He watched sarcastic smiles, smug smiles, disturbed smiles, guilty smiles, angry smiles, superior smiles, sad smiles, lovesick smiles, flirting smiles, grateful smiles, pleased smiles, defeated smiles…

He watched them all, fascinated by the feelings someone could convey in a smile. And he never even thought about his own smiles – not until he saw his yearbook photograph. To any normal person, Shawn's smile was wide and happy – but Shawn himself, looking beyond the surface could see that it was just a façade; one that he enjoyed and to a certain extent believed – but deep under it lurked something sad and desperate, something that frightened him so much that he put his yearbooks away and didn't look directly at his face in the mirror for months.

So yes, Shawn had learned to analyze all smiles, even his own, and uncover things that perhaps even those smiling didn't know. He thought he could rightfully consider himself an expert on any and all smiles; he had seen them all, he had learned them all, and he had no reason to be confused by any smile now.

So why couldn't he get Juliet's smile out of his mind?

Each night, before he went to sleep, he would close his eyes and picture her smiles. Always, he could figure them all out – all but one. One smile that flicked up the corners of her lips almost whenever she watched him, whenever she saw him. It was small and fleeting – almost immediately making way to other smiles or expressions when someone began to speak, or she looked away – but it was always there, every single day.

And for the life of him, Shawn could not figure it out. He compared it to the millions of other smiles he had stored in his never-ending memory, but not one, not _one_ was like that smile.

And each night, Shawn fell to sleep, bewildered still, and that smile haunted his dreams. Sometimes he felt like he _almost_ had it – a feeling would rise up in him, and he would bite his lips hard, eyes closed…

But love wasn't it. No matter how much that called to him when he saw that smile, he knew it wasn't what the smile was telling him. Maybe, perhaps, it was lurking in there, in the subtle curve of her lips, the momentary shine of her eyes – but there were so _many_ emotions there that Shawn could never hope to name them all.

But Juliet can, easily. Every single emotion that passes through her in an instant upon seeing Shawn – surprise, joy, affection, disappointment, attraction, confusion, longing, reluctance, fear, hope, sadness, and yes, love.

They are all there waiting for him in her smile, and if he ever manages to unlock its meaning, _then_…

Maybe then they will finally kiss.


	15. Silence

This is sad, guys. And... the timeline goes like this: Middle . . Beginning . . End. Just so you know.

* * *

**15) Silence**

And now, all that is left is silence.

Silence, and a broken bottle lying on the floor, the light of the sunset shining through the window reflecting off the shards.

And Shawn, sitting alone in the room, is entranced by it because if he stares very hard he might just forget.

But of course he can't forget, not unless it really was thanks to the spirits that he remembers, and they just left.

The thought makes Shawn laugh briefly, the sound disturbing the silence for just an instant before it settles heavily around him once more.

Something about that short laugh depresses Shawn so much that tears come to his eyes, but he blinks them back, staring forcedly at the bottle reflecting less and less light as the sun sinks below the horizon.

_Forget._ They know he can't forget now, and if there were ever any spirits on his side – perhaps responsible for his amazing luck that has so suddenly failed – it's clear they're gone now.

And Shawn is left here, staring at a broken bottle, trying not to cry.

Silence.

.

.

"Is it true, Shawn?"

Shawn blinks, not surprised at the confusing question so much as at the fact that she and Lassiter had both rushed inside just seconds ago to stop dead and stare at him. "Is… Oh. You know." His head ducks in seeming shame, but when he lifts it up, a half-smile is on his face, and he takes a quick drink from his beer – he was just about to celebrate winning the case, though alone because Gus went out somewhere with someone (he wasn't really paying attention but he knew it involved a policewoman he liked) – before continuing. "But it had to be done Jules, you need to understand! They ran _out_ of pineapple! I just – I had to take a stand."

Neither face shows any amusement, but Shawn can work with that, he just needs to get going. "And really, the handcuffs are a bit much, Jules. I mean, it was just some harmless protesting – and that thing with the eggs was _so_ not me, I promise!"

Shawn's getting a little worried. By now there should be at least a hint of a smile on Jules' face, but there's nothing. Maybe she's having a bad day. He opens his mouth to try again –

"You're not psychic."

Shawn blinks at Lassiter. "I… I thought we've been over this, Lassy. Come on, haven't I proven it enough already? I think it's fair to finally admit that I really _am_ – "

"You aren't psychic."

This time it's Juliet speaking, which is enough to push the grin right off Shawn's face. "What?"

"You aren't. Are you."

It's not a question.

Shawn swallows. Something _big_ must have happened, but – he can bluff through this, it's no big. Just ignore that sudden churning in his gut, that feeling he gets on cases when he can almost see the whole picture, and he knows its _bad._ He forces himself to take another sip and smile. "Oh Jules, _please._ And since when are you agreeing with Mr. Doubty there about – "

She interrupts him again, no emotions showing on her face. "Don't bother. Gus told me."

This shakes Shawn quite a bit, and he almost puts down the bottle, but stops himself. "Gus – wha… No. Gus? I mean, no – _Gus?_"

He forces control. _Don't be ridiculous. Gus would never tell. It must be something else. __**Must**__ be. _ "What _exactly_ did Gus tell you?"

Juliet's stare is hard and unwavering. "You have an eidetic memory." When he opens his mouth, she amends for his sake, "Photographic memory." For the first time since she stepped in the door, her control slips, and Shawn catches glimpse of such betrayal in her eyes that he flinches.

"You've been lying ever since we first met. E-everything you've ever said to me… All lies."

And suddenly, the pieces fit together and Shawn understands: however she knows – because Gus did _not_ tell her! – whatever she's heard, it doesn't matter, because she _does_ know, and he can see in her eyes the utter conviction that comes with the truth. She's not going to be persuaded she's wrong.

He stands, and takes a short step closer. "Jules… No – not everything. Please, let me explain – "

It's as good as a confession and Shawn would never have said it if he remembered Lassiter was still in the room. Juliet looks disappointed, and Shawn knows she was hoping – no matter how she glared at him, no matter how she ignored his attempts to lie, she had been hoping that she was wrong.

But she wasn't, and the look on her face is enough to make Shawn stop, both speaking and moving, and hang his head. "Yes." His face is still turned towards the floor, but he can see her shoes, and he can hear her gasp when he speaks. "Yes, it's true, but you have to know – "

"No more lies, Shawn Spencer. I've had enough of your lies to last me _lifetimes_."

It hurts but Shawn doesn't stop speaking, actually lifting his head and meeting her eyes, desperate to salvage _something_. "I _had_ to do it, Jules – Juliet. I _had_ to. I had no choice. And – and I'm helping people. I'm helping the police. Please, can't you let me…?"

"You _had_ to do it?"

Shawn dips his head again. "Yeah. Look, my – my dad trained me, okay? He was – _is_ – a great detective, and when he found out about my memory… Look, I was trained since the age of four to be a Supercop. But I didn't want to be. So I never went to the Academy, but I had all this stuff in my head – I see _everything_ and I know how to analyze it, I know what it all means. And that means I can solve crimes, or read guilt off the news."

He wets his lips nervously, not looking up. Silence. They – for he suddenly remembers that Juliet isn't alone, which means he's probably dead – must be letting him talk.

"But they didn't believe me, Jules! I called in a ton of phone tips – it looked suspicious or something, and Lassy was going to arrest me. I tried to tell them, I swear! But they didn't believe me, and I had to tell them _something_. I had to."

He dares to lift his head, and they're both looking dumbstruck, Lassiter especially. It gives him hope. "And the Chief told me I could be thrown in jail and then I had a case and suddenly I realized that this could work out well, so I took advantage of it. To help people, Jules. To help, I swear. I _couldn't_ tell the truth, I would go to jail and be no good to anyone."

Juliet's eyes are no longer angry, just sad. "But you could have told me, Shawn. As a friend. I've bent enough rules for you. You could have told me." He opens his mouth, trying to say something, anything, but she continues right over him. "You could have told me, but you didn't, you just let me go on believing your lies. And what about those stunts at the station? You could just _tell_ us what you know – everything else is unnecessary and the time it takes – it could be vital to someone, Shawn! The way you do this… it's just… No. I'm sorry."

Shawn's heart does something that he might describe as a leap, except isn't that supposed to be good? Maybe it's a lurch, but whatever it is, it's enough for him to flinch heavily and close his eyes, hoping that – "I'm sorry, Shawn. I just… I can't…"

He opens his eyes to see Juliet at the door. She looks at him, regret and tears in her eyes, and shakes her head once more. "I can't even look at you anymore." She turns, and leaves, and Shawn is left staring…

Silence.

Then Lassiter speaks, and his eyes jump to the right as he realizes he isn't alone, that maybe he's still going to jail – if Juliet doesn't go to the Chief right now, which she might very well do, but Lassiter might still cuff him now – and Shawn blinks. "What?"

"It was a mistake."

Shawn can hardly bear to look at Lassiter. "What?"

The detective shrugs and laughs a little, though he sounds anything but amused. "Guster telling her. An accident. He was saying something about a story when the two of you were kids, and she said something about his great memory. He said it was nothing to yours, you were eidetic. He doesn't know we figured it out."

Shawn exhales all his air in one big gush, finally realizing that he was holding it in. "God. _God._" It's all he can say, an instant rush of relief seeping through him – _of__** course**__ Gus wouldn't tell. Thank god._

Lassiter is looking at him, and Shawn smiles shakily. "Going to bring me in, then?" He holds out both hands in front of him, the beer still loosely held in one.

"No."

Shawn blinks again. Lassiter is staring at him with an odd look on his face, one somewhat… pitying. "You – you aren't?"

Lassiter shakes his head. "No, Spencer. I don't think I need to."

Oddly enough, out of all the things that have just happened, _this_ surprises Shawn the most, and he can barely speak. "Wha… Why…?"

Lassiter moves toward the door, and shakes his head. "No. No, you said it. You won't do any good in prison. You – and this is different, anyway."

Shawn follows him with his eyes and hears his mouth ask, "Different?"

"Than what I thought. You aren't – you don't have an informant, or anything like that. You just… I can see Henry doing that. Teaching you."

Shawn nods dumbly. "Everything was a lesson."

Lassiter nods again, and for a moment looks a little wistful. "Show me."

"What?"

"Show me, something. Prove it."

Shawn is so far gone he doesn't ever consider saying no, just closes his eyes and lifts a hand to his head.

"Why?"

"It helps me concentrate." Eyes closed, Shawn thinks and then begins to speak. "Over in the corner over there, two little spots on the floor. Coffee. Ten pencils on Gus' desk, four on mine; two of his are chewed on, and all of mine are. You have a corner of a piece of paper sticking out of your pocket which has the color and pattern of a paper napkin, you have brown hairs clinging to one pant leg so you probably ran into a dog at some point, and you had pizza for lunch – some sauce is on your sleeve."

Lassiter's eyes are wide, and he slowly shakes his head once more. He looks at Shawn, and his expression is a combination of envy and pity that makes Shawn's head reel, and he's staring at Lassiter.

Then Lassiter turns and leaves, and Shawn finds himself completely undone; the bottle falls from his hands to smash on the floor in the silence and he's still staring out at the parking lot, even long after the detective is gone.

.

.

Eventually the phone rings… It's Gus, and Lassiter was right; he really has no idea of what's happened. Then it's the Chief, who also doesn't know, but Shawn knows that means nothing, because there's no way he can stay here anymore.

And when the sun has finally faded and he can no longer see the shards on the floor, he gets up and writes Gus a note. Then he puts on his helmet, drives home, and picks up his always-packed bag. And then he locks his apartment and drives to his father's, where he leaves a note and his keys in the mailbox.

Then he gets back on his motorcycle and drives off into the night, his thoughts still on those last few shards glittering in the fading light. And despite the wind rushing through his ears, and as time passes the rising sun and cars joining him on the highway, he can't get it out of his mind: the dark, empty feeling that he's never had before, that aches and grows inside him no matter what.

And now, all that is left is silence.


	16. Questioning

**16) Questioning**

Frankly, this wasn't what Henry had expected.

When he'd been called, he'd expected some friendly conversation, some story swapping, maybe talking about Lassiter or Shawn – a _little_. But this… he hadn't expected this…

Questioning.

It's clear to him that O'Hara is a detective, and he would have realized had he not already known before the so-called-innocent lunch.

It was subtle – he had to grant her that. Mixed in with stories and idle conversation pieces, but the questions were there:

_What was Shawn like as a kid?_

_Did he always have this sense of humor?_

_Has he ever displayed any 'psychic' abilities before?_

_What sport does he like best?_

_What's your relationship with him?_

And the one, never spoken, but lurking behind her eyes the entire meal:

_Does he ever talk about me?_

Henry smiled wryly out of the corner of his lip, and answered them all, even the unspoken ones. Because he liked her, and Shawn barely ever said a word about her, which said all too much on it's own.

And he silently hoped that Shawn would get a hint soon and make a move, because this woman wasn't the type to let get away.

-xxx-

Frankly, this wasn't what Shawn had expected.

Exactly _what_ he'd expected, he hadn't been sure – after all, what was he meant to make out of being ambushed and pulled into an interrogation room by Lassiter, where the detective actually cuffed him to his chair and posted a nervous-looking Buzz outside to guard the door.

Really, what should he have expected?

Questioning.

That was what he got, and for the first time, Shawn felt really intimidated by the detective; pinned by that stare, he became jittery and a little nervous, and that was before Lassiter began speaking, with cold, deadly intent:

_Are you aware that Detective O'Hara is romantically interested in you?_

_Have you ever had any kind of lasting relationship?_

_Can you?_

_Will you?_

_Are you aware that if you ever hurt her at all, in any way, I will personally see to it that you never see the light of day again, and that this is **not**__ an idle threat?_

And, beneath it all, only visible in Lassiter's eyes, the real question he's asking:

_Do you love her?_

And Shawn was dumbfounded enough to answer the questions truthfully, even the unspoken ones, though not in so many words, because he would never consider saying that aloud to _Lassiter_ first.

And he silently hoped that Lassiter would just let him go faster so that he could go make his move, because Juliet wasn't the type to let get away and he had been waiting for this for too long already.

-xxx-

Frankly, this was exactly what Gus had expected.

He had known that eventually this would happen, and he wholly approved, which was why he told Juliet about Henry and watched in glee when Lassiter dragged Shawn off for more than just a run-of-the-mill threatening session. But he hadn't thought he would get it too.

Questioning.

The Chief beckoned to him, brought him into her office, and sat down in her comfortable chair, giving him a look that pinned him right to the spot. And then she began:

_Are you responsible for this?_

_Do you really think it's wise for those two to be in a relationship?_

_Do you think Shawn will last?_

_Will you keep me informed?_

And, hidden in her eager, if worried, eyes, the true questions:

_Will he break O'Hara's heart? Will she break his?_

And Gus answered freely, telling her all she wanted to know, both verbalized and not, in an attempt to convince her that this was something good. That Shawn – and Juliet too – needed this and it would do them only good.

And he silently hoped that none of this went to waste and that Shawn actually _did_ ask Juliet out, or kiss her, or _something_ within the next few days, because otherwise he would die of the suspension and lose his money in the precinct pool going round for when they became a 'real couple'.

-xxx-

Three people were satisfied the next day when they got the news – Henry and Gus on the phone from Shawn; the Chief on the phone from Gus – and were also relieved.

One person was cautious but slightly happy for his partner and, (though he'd never admit it) Spencer. Lassiter, of course, who was also annoyed that O'Hara was late for work.

One was annoyed and disappointed – if they had just waited _one more day_ Buzz would have been _rich_.

But two people were immensely pleased, even beyond the word pleased, and this couple was Shawn and Juliet. And they were so happy that they sat till the crow of dawn, just talking to each-other.

Questioning.

And all the answers were good.


	17. Blood

**17) Blood**

There was so much of it.

It was everywhere; on the table, the floor, the walls, even some on the ceiling… But worst of all was Shawn.

Gus' best friend was covered in red, his face barely visible beneath its curtain of blood… And he was laying so still on the floor. So still.

Gus fought a losing battle with his stomach, and vomited on the floor. Mixed in with the red of Shawn's blood, it was a horrendous sight that that almost made him vomit a second time, but he forced himself not to.

Holding his breath, he stayed low, avoiding the shards of glass and pieces of their lunch on the ground. The shooter was probably still out there, just waiting for the survivor to rise up into sight. Gus didn't plan on letting him.

He reached for his cell phone, dialing 911 with shaking fingers.

"We need help. An ambulance, and the police. There's a shooter…"

-xxx-

One horrible phone call later, Gus dropped the phone and crawled closer to Shawn.

"Shawn, can you hear me? Shawn! Shawn?"

He felt like sobbing when his friend didn't answer. Gus was in a state of shock. Shawn was dead. No one could survive a bullet straight to the head, and the blood…

Dead. Shawn.

No, it was impossible! Shawn wasn't the type of person that died! He was the one who got hurt all the time – _all the time_ – but he didn't _die_. He didn't let himself die! He… he had amazing luck, he…

Shawn. _Dead._

Gus swallowed suddenly, convulsively. "Oh god…" he reached out a hand to touch Shawn – but pulled back before his fingers touched the sticky blood, cursing himself for his cowardice.

He should be able to help Shawn – to do something to save the day, since Shawn was no longer capable of doing so at the last moment, just like he had so many times before. But Gus found that all he could do was cry.

Curling up on the floor of the Psych office, amidst blood, glass, and sandwich bits… a shooter waiting outside and his dead-or-rapidly-dying best friend next to him, and the SBPD and ambulances screaming across town towards him… Gus sobbed his heart out, in great, wracking sobs that shook his whole body and left him gasping for air.

Because Shawn was gone.

How many times had Gus wished that Shawn would just _leave?_ (exactly 34,582 – Gus amused himself by keeping count). And how many had he left town, just gone off? (12). Every single one of those times, Gus had immediately regretted his wishes, and wished all the harder that Shawn would return – would come back and habitually ruin his life as he'd always done.

Because over the years, Gus had learned that no matter what Shawn did – lie to his friends and coworkers, get him into trouble, steal his dates, insult him, break into his home, make him lose the spelling bee "for his own good" – no matter _what_ it was, Gus missed it the moment it was gone.

And the years Shawn had traveled had been the most successful, organized, productive, comforting, calm, and completely _lonely_ years of Gus' life.

But even during those times, he'd always known that Shawn was out there somewhere, and that he might very well show up in town the next day, with a pineapple and a wide grin.

But now…

So Gus cried, because without his friend he was nothing, and now he _was_ nothing because Shawn was gone, and he should have tried to help, should have at least touched Shawn, felt for a pulse but he was too afraid of the blood…

-xxx-

It was right about that point that Shawn woke up.

Groaning slightly, eyelids fluttering, Shawn made to sit up, but then his hands flew to his head, clutching his temples (though not in his usual 'psychic' position – more the universal 'my head hurts').

"Gus…?"

Gus screamed very much like a little girl and flung himself backwards, scrambling across the floor. Shawn's spirit, back from the dead. Oh god!

"Gus? Why… What's going on…?"

Shawn was wiping the blood from his face, splatting it on the floor, shaking it off his hands. "Dude, what's this all over my face?"

Gus wet his lips. True, it was a spirit inhabiting a dead body – but it was _Shawn_. "Shawn – i-it's your blood. You were shot."

Shawn snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah! That dude, the suspect with the plasticy hair! By the way man, he totally did it in the dining room with the wrench – and I mean that literally."

Gus was somewhat disappointed, though at least Shawn's ghost was friendly. But, really – his last few minutes on Earth and he was talking about a case?

"Shawn? You're dead… you'll probably be leaving that body soon. Hopefully for heaven."

Shawn stopped and looked at Gus. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm dead? _Dead?_"

"You were shot in the head."

Shawn blinked, and his mouth fell open… then he began, inexplicably, to laugh.

"What? Why are you laughing?" Gus was confused – but again, this _was_ Shawn.

Shawn smiled. "Dude – Gus, I'm not dead."

"Yes you are."

"Am not!"

"You are Shawn! I saw the bullet hit your head. There was blood everywhere! There still is!"

Shawn nodded. "And I can see you puked in it, too. This is going to be such a hassle to clean up… But the point is, that's not blood."

Gus blinked. "Wh…What?"

Shawn grinned, going back to wiping the supposedly-not-blood off his face. "Gus… It's ketchup."

Gus blinked. Again. "Ketchup."

Shawn nodded. "Uh-huh. Remember, you have that stupid glass bottle that is impossible to get the ketchup out of, a fact I was complaining about – and holding the bottle in front of my face while I tried to get some out of it – when the plasticy hair guy shot at us. It must've hit the bottle, which exploded." Shawn frowned. "All over me. And some piece of the glass hit me right in the head, that was probably what knocked me out – does it look bad?"

He had cleaned off his forehead, and Gus could now see a gigantic swelling, already purple and yellow, with a small cut bleeding slightly down his friend's forehead.

Gus swallowed hard, grossed out by the sight – but then, suddenly, the entire situation hit him and he began to actually laugh. Loudly. And a little high-pitched. And maybe slightly maniacally.

Shawn gave him an odd, worried look. "Gus? Are you…okay?"

Gus was still laughing when he pulled Shawn into a hug, no longer caring about the 'blood' all over his front. But some point after he latched his arms around his friend, the laughter turned into sobs and the hug turned into a death-grip, as Gus completely broke down, trying to assimilate the fact that Shawn was not dead.

Alive. Shawn was alive.

Not dead.

Shawn was extremely freaked out, as he awkwardly rocked back and forth and patted Gus' back soothingly. "Hey man, it's okay, I'm fine…" He wasn't very good at comforting people, least of all in a situation like this.

But eventually Gus eased back, letting go and wiping his nose on his sleeve, tears still hovering in his eyes as he looked at Shawn.

Shawn grinned weakly, trying to joke off the situation. "Oh man, did you get snot on this shirt? It was my favorite!"

Gus didn't even mention that the shirt was covered in ketchup as he normally would, just staring at Shawn, with an almost tender look in his eyes, ready to finally tell his friend how much he meant to him…

"Shawn. Don't you ever _dare_ die on me. Or I swear I will kill you."


	18. Rainbow

**18) Rainbow**

**Red**

is the color Gus turns whenever Shawn mentions some illicit sex act or pretends that _Gus_ committed said sex act like now, sitting on a bench and waiting for a certain someone. It's also the color of the fire trucks going by which reminds Shawn of that time he snuck onto the fire truck after its visit to school and stayed hidden while it responded to a fire, only being found when he tried to go say hi to his Daddy after the action was over.

**Orange**

is the color of the sunset that Shawn has been watching for the fifteen minutes since Gus left him with a, "Forget it Shawn, give up". It also happens to be the color Shawn has just decided he will paint the office the next time he gets bored, in honor of sitting out here because as pretty as the sunset is, it's also a _sunset_ which means that he's sitting alone on a bench by the beach as the sun sets and his ride just left and he's miles from home, not to mention he can't leave because he's waiting for someone, which means he can't go get a coat and it's getting a little cold… all reasons that this moment should be remembered and celebrated.

**Yellow**

is the color of the pineapple slices Shawn is glad he had with him, even if they aren't his ideal choice for a dinner out alone, freezing, and unable to see more than three feet in any direction because the stupid street-light only occasionally works. It is also the color that the sand is in the sun, even though it's a dark gray right now, which makes Shawn pause to consider if a sun-deprived pineapple would be gray on the inside, or just dead, before he checks his watch and realizes it's almost 11:30 at night.

**Green**

is the color of the palm tree leaves overhead that Shawn sees first thing when he wakes up alone, cramped, tired, and for some reason hanging upside down off the back of a bench two benches from where he started, though Shawn has learned by now not to question his sleepwalking dreams lest he end up very disturbed. It also turns out to be the color of the first five cars to drive by, in a very bizarre coincidence, and is the color of the money Shawn gives a kid to go buy him a sandwich so he can eat without leaving his spot, because he _is_ waiting for someone.

**Blue**

is the color of the sky, the sea, and the uniform in front of him trying to politely make him move because the idiot cop thinks he's a bum. Really, just because Shawn's been sitting there for over 24 hours and hasn't shaved in 48 and is wearing the same wrinkled clothes as three days ago shouldn't mean anything! He's just _waiting_ for somebody, a person who also happens to have blue eyes that sometimes make him feel a little uncomfortable and exposed… which reminds him of that night at the bar when Lassy was drunk and spilled a bunch of secrets, including that he thought Shawn was _astounding_, something which Shawn still isn't sure makes him feel happy, smug, proud, or just creeped out.

**Indigo**

is the color of the hot girl's miniskirt, or at least what few scraps of it Shawn can see, and it makes Shawn drool a great deal right until his extra-sensitive observational skills picks up the gun in her purse and he has to go tackle her right in front of the jewelry shop, which, admittedly, is not without pleasure, but then she has to go and try to make a run for it by kicking him in a private place (he catches her again, not as nicely), and the blue suit from earlier suddenly likes Shawn a lot more. And as Shawn turns to walk away he notices another scrap that is the same color, though this time it certainly isn't a miniskirt – after all, he's meeting a professional woman, not some girl on vacation – but rather a hair tie.

**Violet**

is the color of the flowers planted all along where they are walking, although technically it's not really their color so much as what type they are, though some of them are both that color _and_ type… It's also the color that ended Shawn's waiting, because she's finally here now and they are walking along the street and she's commenting on how disgusting he looks, and he on how great she looks, and Shawn knew it was worth the wait.

**(Mr.) Roy G. Biv**

is the alias he gives himself on his case with her, partially because he knows she'll find it amusing when people believe the ridiculous coincidence and partially because the case relates to a race issue and he's pretending to be trying to make a point about all colors being equal, but mostly because it characterizes his waits for her and her impending visits: they cover everything though most people see only a few simple, ordinary colors, they come when you least expect them, they can last from anywhere from a few minutes to a _very_ long time, and they are precious and beautiful.


	19. Gray

Okay, so this is written in form of one of Lassiter's blog entries. You can find the blog (written by the actor himself) at /series/psych/blogs/lassiter22.html and I highly suggest you do so. Gus has a blog too and they are both hilarious.

This oneshot has a small spoiler for _From The Earth To Starbucks_ near the end.

--

**19) Gray**

Spencer fits in the gray area.

I'd just like to say that right off the bat.

Recently, I've been getting a lot of questions on my blog about him – why I put up with him, why I'm not nicer to him, when am I going to admit I like him, when am I going to finally punch him… So I thought I'd write one entry, just to explain everything.

I know Shawn Spencer a lot better than he thinks I do. I _have_ looked at his records, after all. And I have to admit I made several connections based on information there that I never would have noticed otherwise.

Such as the time length. When I first met him, and tried to interrogate him, only to have him tell me he was _psychic _of all things, I told him he'd never held a job more than six months. Actually, it's true: according to his records, the longest time he's ever had a job was a five and-a-half month stint at a male stripper joint called _Marty's Manly Men_.

Setting aside the specific details of that interesting factoid, it must be considered that Spencer has been working at Psych much longer than that; in fact, approaching two years now. And as much as I dislike admitting it, this tells me that he really does enjoy this job, and is (somewhat) serious about it.

That said, it's also true that he could leave at any moment, because he does have a long history of running.

Spencer, while extremely annoying to me on a personal and professional level, _is_ good at what he does – I have to admit that. Of course, 'what he does' happens to be flailing around the police station and crime scenes, making lucky guesses and pretending that he can read minds, but he is good at it.

Now, let me tell you, I do not believe in psychics at _all_. Once in college, my girlfriend at the time and I went to a 'psychic' at a fair, and she told me that I was going to marry the girl next to me and have three children, and live happily ever after, working a job at a local newspaper.

My girlfriend was scared by the implied commitment the old hag 'sensed' and broke up with me three days later, which was a relief because the novelty of her acting and slight insanity had worn off and her nose ring was a little too much for me. And I think it's obvious that I would _never_ work in a newspaper. My job is to catch the bad guys, not write about the ones doing it, and it always has been. Suffice to say, that was when my original doubts (I firmly believe in science and when it comes to the 'mystical' world I've always been a skeptic) about psychic abilities were confirmed.

I think that there is no way on earth that Spencer is psychic, and the way he acts only confirms this belief. No _true_ psychic – if such a thing were to exist, which it doesn't – would ever convey their visions the way he does. There is just no way.

And this in turn means that for the past two years, Spencer has been lying to the police, in other words committing a federal offence that I could quite easily throw him in jail for should I ever be proved right. And yes, I am somewhat eagerly awaiting that day, in no small way because I can't wait to lock him up and say _I told you so_.

But, on the other hand, I don't really want that day to come. Because yes, no matter how much he annoys me, he _does_ help us solve cases. Not that we wouldn't solve them without his help, and yes, it may not make things any easier for me, trying to explain that a butcher was arrested because a thirty-year-old child told me his _steak felt guilty_.

But Spencer does get results. In fact, on paper he has a perfect arrest record; an arrest for every case, and a conviction that aligns with said arrest. And results like that are all I really care about, at the end of the day.

So Spencer fits in my very small gray area, the one in which I _know_ he's lying to the police, breaking the law, and earning a lot of money for it, but I let him continue the lie, and don't try to uncover the truth as hard as I could.

That's all I wanted to say today.

And in response to some questions: Spencer is annoying. Not cute. _Ever._ Don't ever mention that again, please.

I may or may not have bought his motorcycle for him, but either way is none of your business, whoever you are.

Yes, I'm aware that he and O'Hara led me through that planet case. I'm not stupid; I am Head Detective after all, and they weren't nearly as sneaky as they thought. And of course I appreciate it – though I'm still not sure _why_ Spencer really helped me for no pay. Most likely to feel superior.

We aren't friends. I don't have friends. The closest is O'Hara and well, Spencer. And Henry Spencer. I think it's obvious why I prefer saying I have no friends.

And to Spencer himself, because I've received several questions that were undeniably you and I know you are reading this: I may not want to kill you now, but if you ever mention what I've just written, that will _rapidly_ change. And I want my paperweight back.


	20. Fortitude

Okay guys, this one is **sad.** Just read the first two sentences and you'll see why. No spoilers though.

--

**20) Fortitude**

**Fortitude**: _n._ Courage in pain or adversity: s_he endured her illness with great fortitude._

Juliet was scared.

She had been for two years, ever since she first heard the news, and now that her final year was approaching, it was even worse. But she had been brave before, and she could be now.

She had taken the job in Santa Barbara for three reasons: first, it was what she had always wanted; second, she wanted to pursue her dreams and as long as she was going to die, she wanted it to be in a place she loved, and she loved Santa Barbara the moment she saw it; third, no one there knew about it – none of them would give her those _looks_ or assume she shouldn't do something now…

Juliet wanted to be able to live her remaining life to the fullest, despite what was slowly growing inside her. And so she'd put aside her fears and moved away from everyone she loved, just taking her two cats with her.

That was why it had hurt so much when she had first come here, and no one had listened to her… That was when Shawn had really gotten to her, in that restaurant at the hotel, holding her hand and whispering all her disappointments… _"You thought this place would be different, but… Nobody respects your opinions. They all think you're too young…"_

And Juliet had been brave, and stubborn, until now people listened to her. Now she had a real life here, with friends and coworkers who respected her… and it was her last year to live, and she knew she should tell them. But she couldn't.

And she couldn't go after Shawn either. At first it had been because she was too cowardly to venture outside of their safe, flirty friendship, but then after that case with the bounty hunters… she had told him it was a mistake, and even as she said so she realized she was telling the truth.

Not because they were coworkers or because of him, but because she had yet to tell him that she was going to die the same time next year, and if they got together that would be even worse.

Juliet realized that it was time to tell the truth _now_, before she became any closer to these people. She _had_ thought this place would be different – she had thought that somehow she could have the life she'd always wanted right up till the day she died, and then no one would miss her because she hadn't been at home.

Who was she kidding? She _loved_ these people, from her grouchy partner to the naïve Buzz McNabb. She couldn't expect them not to care when she died. She should tell them.

She should tell them today.

But when Juliet got to the station and saw them all together – the chief watching with a small smile as Lassiter threatened a grinning Shawn and Gus, and Buzz made his way through the mêlée carrying smoothies and coffee – she couldn't do it. No matter how brave Juliet O'Hara was when it came to police work, she couldn't bear telling these people the truth, not when it would make them look at her differently, not when it would make them treat her differently. Not when it meant she would lose this.

So yes, Juliet was scared. Scared that they would find out, scared that she would lose this life, scared that she would die.

But she was going to keep living her life as much as possible, in exactly the way she wanted to; she was going to be brave…

No matter how much she sometimes simply _longed_, looking at Shawn, or how much she wished, late in the night, that she could call Lassiter and tell him because she knew despite his gruff exterior, he would comfort her…

She couldn't do it. And she wouldn't. She would _never_ ruin this.

No matter how much not doing so was ruining her.


	21. Vacation

**21) Vacation**

The first day of the trip, Shawn stepped on a stick while walking barefoot to the beach and became stuck in his room until the gaping hole in his foot healed. He was annoyed and lonely, especially since his window had a view of the beach and he could see Gus chatting up some girl and Juliet trying to learn how to surf.

The second day, he started warning her about the surfing instructor, telling her that he was getting 'tidal wave sleazy-man vibes' from him, and that she should ask for a girl instructor. She laughed at him and rolled her eyes, and did _not_ switch instructors, but she spent the entire night in his room, watching all the movies the hotel had.

On the third day, Gus' girl friend became his girlfriend and Gus stopped dropping by to Shawn's room because he was too busy having a wonderful time with Rebecca. Shawn would hold it against him, had he not done that many times himself. But it didn't help his mood any, watching Juliet messing up and getting repeatedly saved by her ridiculously Adonis-like instructor, and still chatting and hanging out after the lesson. He felt a moment of hope when the instructor said something that made Juliet obviously recoil in disgust, but he followed it up with something that made her nearly fall over laughing, and Shawn felt himself beginning to hate the idiot.

The fourth day, he asked about the instructor, received a name and more than he wanted to know about the man's eyes, then spent the entire day becoming friends with the cleaning ladies and asking them to spy on the guy for him, waving off Juliet's questions when she found him grinning widely rather than looking out the window.

The fifth day, Juliet didn't show up once at his room and the cleaning ladies came back with a detailed description of the room, which Shawn then drew a diagram of. He then threw it across the room when he couldn't find anything suspicious at all.

The sixth and seventh days, Juliet remained missing and Shawn began to get very suspicious, calling her over thirty times and asking the cleaning ladies to check her room.

They came back on the eighth day, telling Shawn that she had checked out, along with Gus, and her room was empty. He was up on his feet, hobbling towards the door two seconds later – only to be halted when he stumbled and fell into a cleaning cart.

The ninth day, Shawn remained in bed, thinking hard with his hands in his 'psychic' pose, occasionally dashing to the window to peer out of it, before shaking his head and retreating to bed. Around five in the evening, he called the front desk asking that the cleaning lady who he got along with best, Maria, be sent to his room, faking a horrendous spill. After she came up, he asked her to check and see if either Gus' girlfriend or Juliet's surf instructor had a second room key among their things, having remembered seeing a slightly too-full key pouch hanging from the instructor's wrist.

Early the tenth morning, Shawn received not only Maria's news that they both did have two keys, but a copy of the second one both had, which was to a equipment shed out on the beach. Shawn wrapped his foot in towels and bubble wrap, using Maria's mop as a make-shift crutch as he called the hotel security and hobbled swiftly to bring them to the shed, Maria alongside, highly excited to be helping him. They burst into the shed with the hotel security brandishing guns, just in time to stop the man and women, who were about to shoot their victims.

Gus and Juliet remained in Shawn's room for the night, and though Gus went home the next day, saying they'd solved the 'serial vacationers killing case' and he wanted to get away from the place he almost died, Juliet stayed, because they still had four more days.

The eleventh day, Shawn went with Juliet to the beach, where he sunbathed and she showed off her well-paid-for surfing skills. By the end of the day, his foot was finally good enough to walk on, and he and Juliet took a long walk down the beach together.

The twelfth day was the last day he saw Maria; she had taken her reward for helping with the police investigation and left the low-paying hotel in search of a better job. Shawn and Juliet spend the day in the arcade, wasting almost a hundred dollars, or at what would have been a hundred dollars had Maria not left them a key to the machines so they didn't have to pay.

On the thirteenth, and second-last day of their vacation, Shawn finally went swimming with Juliet, and when they left almost at dusk, he grabbed her arm, and kissed her, still standing in the shallow water.

Their last day at the hotel contained several more kisses and a few very serious talks, but by the time they left at three in the afternoon, Shawn and Juliet both had permanent grins on their faces and a date the next night.

When Henry asked how the investigation had gone, Shawn didn't hesitate to name it his best vacation ever.


	22. Mother Nature

This entire oneshot is based off of an idea I got from _There's Something About Mira_, but it contains no outright spoilers.

--

**22) Mother Nature**

**The 'It's Great That You're Reaching Out, But I'm Never Going Camping Again, Dad' Speech:**

Dad. I think its great that you're trying to reach out, and spend some father-son time with me. Really man, I think it's cool, and you know, I'm open to it too. I am, really.

Any other way but this.

I mean, really, what are you _thinking?_ You know, I think you'd have learned by now that I'm just not a wilderness kinda guy. I don't like killing cuddly little forest animals and roasting them over a fire, any more than I like being _stalked_ by vicious little black-and-white beasts. And you know, I've read up on those things – they raise their young, at least the mommies do, and I wouldn't be surprised if there's a whole _litter_ of those things that were taught to hunt me down the moment I enter their territory again!

Yeah, you're laughing now, but just wait until they break into the tent again…

_(let him bluster for a while)_

Okay, I've allowed you your little speech. Now back to me – no, it's _my_ turn to speak, Henry.

Look, as I was saying, Mother Nature and I just don't get along, and you know if I go out there with you, it will rain, we'll lose things, probably expensive stuff, and I'll come back with something broken. You know it's gonna happen.

…In fact, that's probably your plan, isn't it?! It's your new plan to torture me! You're _pretending_ to want to hang out with me, just so I'll feel guilty and go with you and then I'll get hurt and the raccoons will attack me! You – you're _working_ with them, aren't you?!

How _could_ you, Dad – no, no, I don't want to hear it, I'm out of here before you drug me and stick me in the back of your car to take me to them. I'm going back home, and I'm locking all my doors _and_ I'm going to turn on all the lights, and I'm not coming back here until you get this crazy camping idea out of your head! In fact – I'm taking the tent!

_(grab tent, if handy, and run. Make sure Gus is waiting outside so he doesn't catch me. And maybe lock my front door for a while, just in case… Those raccoons __**do**__ breed…)_


	23. Cat

**23) Cat**

Juliet has two cats. (_The gray one is very affectionate, the white one makes me work much, much harder for the attention_)

The gray one is sweet to everyone but her boyfriends, whom it hates. Over the years, he has destroyed five relationships, one that had lasted nearly three years before he dug his claws in (literally), and stopped Juliet from even going out with countless people, just because she doesn't want to bother with all the trouble she knows Eros (obviously an ironic name) will bring.

The white one is aloof to everyone, including her – which is why Juliet is surprised when she begins winding itself around Shawn's ankles the moment he steps through the door, and, after a five hour movie marathon, has yet to leave his side. She purrs whenever he touches her, and when Shawn pries himself free to go home, Athena scratches mournfully at the door behind him for nearly twenty minutes.

Athena being so friendly surprised her so much that she didn't notice Eros' behavior until the second time Shawn visits, when the two cats actually get into a fight over him. Eros hisses and tries to leap on Shawn, but is cut off mid-pounce by Athena defending the psychic.

Despite Athena's obvious approval, Eros continues trying to attack Shawn whenever he visits, even though he usually just bows to the will of the older and larger female. It eventually reaches the point where Juliet takes a firm grip on Eros and pets him the entire time Shawn is over, while he takes (or is forced to take) Athena.

That means that their first kiss is with a cat on each of their laps, and is interrupted when, after Juliet wraps her arms around Shawn's neck, Eros bites a large chunk out of his thigh before Athena can block him.

Their first kiss is a very momentous occasion, what with the hospital and vet trips they had to take immediately afterwards.

And so the pattern continues: Athena stalks Shawn, acting as his own personal bodyguard and trying to get petted at the same time; Eros stalks Shawn and tries to assassinate him whenever possible, only taking short breaks to cuddle in Juliet's arms and glare at her boyfriend.

The first time Shawn spends the night, he wakes up in the middle of the night to find that despite the closed and locked door, somehow both cats have gotten in (later they realize the window was open, though how the cats got outside in the first place is a mystery) and are fighting at his feet, Eros occasionally breaking free and dashing towards him, only to be tackles each time by Athena.

In the morning he forgets that he locked Eros in the bathroom for the night and they have to make a second emergency trip.

-xxx-

Then, one day everything changes. (_Marry me_)

Juliet comes home to find Shawn asleep on the couch, with two furry bodies cuddled in his arms. At first, she freaks out, thinking that Athena was sleeping on the job and Eros was suffocating Shawn, but then she hears the purring.

_Loud_ purring, coming from both of the cats curled up in her boyfriend's arms, Eros included in that pair. She hasn't heard Eros really purr since Shawn moved in (though Athena hasn't stopped since), so she can't help but drop her jaw in shock.

After several minutes just staring, she gets out her camera and takes several pictures, before waking Shawn up. He blinks up at her, still absently petting the cats, and she gestures at the pair, "What's this?"

He glances down and seems surprised himself. Then a wide smile crosses his face and he says, "You know Jules, I've changed my mind – the devil-cat really _was_ just looking out for you all this time."

She still doesn't get it when he sits up and Eros runs to her arms, though Athena refuses to leave him alone. She doesn't get it when he fiddles in his pocket or pulls out a small black box, any more than she gets it when he kneels in front of her and opens it to reveal a very shiny ring.

But she understands when he speaks, with a wry grin. "Marry me, Juliet."

And when she accepts, Eros lets out such an unnaturally loud purr that they both jump, and Shawn gives her a _look_, raising a significant eyebrow.

She laughs and then they're kissing, or trying to around the cats, until finally they have to break apart because Eros once again tried to scratch Shawn and Athena began to fight him. However, this time, the moment they stop kissing, Eros stops the fight and gives them both a smug cat grin.

Shawn rolls his eyes, and Juliet could swear so does Athena, but she's too busy laughing to notice. (_I couldn't live without my cats_)


	24. No Time: part 1

This - and the next two - have already been posted as a separate story, called _Time, Trouble, and Tears_, so you may have read it already. And yes, I know, I'm kinda cheating, with having a three-shot, but I figure each one can conceivably be read on it's own, so it's okay, right?

Warning - **Very sad, whump, and character death.**

--

**24) No Time (a)**

It seemed appropriate that Shawn's watch had stopped – after all, time _should_ be stopping right now. He had no use for time, he didn't want it to move…

Shawn wished that time would just _stop_ so he could think, because he couldn't do so with it still moving, not when he had none. If only time was a currency: then he would be able to give up everything right now, sell his soul just to get a little more, because he knew if he had just _five more seconds_ he could figure a way out of this.

But he didn't, and a stopped watch didn't mean a frozen world, and Shawn had to do _something_.

"Wait!" he shouted, and jumped out of his hiding spot. "Wait! Don't shoot!"

A gun swung around to aim at his chest, swiftly followed by an evil grin, and Shawn swallowed hard, for once truly scared.

But he wasn't scared because of the gun pointed at him; no, he was terrified because Gus was still just _standing there_ like some kind of idiot, and now he really had _no time_ because Gus was supposed to run but he wasn't, and if Shawn didn't do something now they'd _both_ die, and that wouldn't help anyone.

He started babbling something – even he wasn't sure what – wildly motioning to the exit with his eyes. His attempts to buy some time – _I swear I'll sell my soul, my life, __**anything**__, but get out __**now**__ Gus, please! _– didn't seem to be working because the man wielding the gun was smirking and Gus still wasn't moving, and there wasn't anyone about to come and save them and everything was spinning out of control, he hadn't known this would happen when he'd come here…

Then there was a _crack_ and Shawn felt something blast through his gut, ripping a violent hole straight through him, what _had_ to be a mortal wound because how could he survive this, seeing Gus collapsing to the ground in front of him, blood pouring out of a hole in his chest, way too close to the heart for comfort, and the damned man with the gun was still _smirking_.

"Ready to tell me what you're doing here, then, or should I just finish him off?"

Shawn couldn't breathe, and maybe time _had_ stopped, at just the worst possible moment, because he was staring at Gus and nothing was moving, and he couldn't hear or see anything but his best friend – his _brother_ – bleeding in front of his eyes because he hadn't done the right thing, and the bastard in front of him knew Shawn cared.

"Hey! Snap out of it, I don't have much time left before I gotta go." The man checked his watch. "Five minutes at the most. So tell me, what were you two doing in here?"

Shawn's eyes snapped back up and he would have moved, he would have gone and tackled the bastard, but his vision was blurring and he couldn't seem to move anything and –

"We just wanted to look around, please..."

"No, you're that psychic, aren't you? The one that works with the police?"

Shawn mutely shook his head, blinking the wetness out of his eyes – he was going into shock, he could tell by the numbness spreading throughout his body and the urge to just let the man with the gun do what he wanted, because none of this was real anyway… but it was, and Gus didn't have time for Shawn to be weak, so – he _did_ tackle the man, a move which took them both by surprise because honestly, how stupid _was_ he, to tackle someone who had a gun?

The gun went off again, but Shawn didn't care, and he wrenched it loose from the other's fingers, spinning it around into his own hands and firing it himself, right into that bastard's surprised face – something which would horrify him any other day (_he'd just taken a life_) but right now he had no time for his own feelings because Gus was still _bleeding_ and god damn it, where was a fucking _**phone?**_

Bloody, trembling fingers pressed four buttons – _9-1-1-SEND_ – and then Shawn started talking fast into the receiver, even before it was picked up, and he was soon yelling at the woman on the phone for being too damn _slow_ and it was only when the phone fell from his hand and the world rushed dizzily around him that he remembered he'd been shot too.

But Shawn ignored the bloody hole in his middle, trying to crawl across the suddenly impossibly long stretch of floor to Gus' body, even as everything lost its cohesiveness and twisted and his insides caught fire in protest and was that _his_ head hitting the concrete floor?

He thought he heard sirens and he hoped that it wasn't a delusion because Gus had maybe five minutes of life left in him if they were lucky, and Shawn himself not much more than that, and they both needed more time, and if only his stupid watch had been working, this would never have happened because he'd have _known _the guy was about to come by, but of course he'd noticed too late, and now there wasn't even the time to be mad at himself because he wasn't sure he remembered why he was mad…

Were those sirens? Why were there sirens?

If he'd been able to stay awake for maybe _five more seconds_, he might figure it out, but he was so… sleepy…


	25. Trouble Lurking: part 2

This is the events of the last one, from Gus's POV.

Warning - **Very sad, whump, and character death.**

**25) Trouble Lurking (B)**

Gus had known it from the moment they entered the stupid warehouse. He hadn't even wanted to come, but Shawn had insisted they needed to visit the place so that he could go through the boxes being delivered and confirm his hunch that there really were drugs hidden in the seams of the coats. It had been Shawn's idea, because, as he put it, "Who keeps winter coats in _Santa Barbara_, dude? There's got to be more to this, and it explains everything!"

Well yes, it did explain everything about their case – finally giving them a suspect and a motive, but Gus was understandably nervous about dying the exact same way for the exact same reason: after all, the drug dealers hadn't shown any mercy before when they caught people snooping around. And those were just _kids_, a couple of teenagers trying to party in an (they thought) unused warehouse. Gus and Shawn were adults, and they'd _obviously_ be snooping, which didn't bode well for them.

But Shawn had explained everything: he'd known exactly what he was looking for and where, he'd dismantled the cameras, he'd parked the car far away, and he had set his watch – well actually Gus' watch, which he'd won in a game of Desk Chair Racing earlier that day – to beep five minutes before the guard came by on his rounds so they would have plenty of time to leave. For once, Shawn had actually thought everything out, and Gus set aside his misgivings because this bust would be their biggest yet – about ten times bigger than even the trop-shop case and _it's_ accompanying drug bust – which meant they would be paid _very well_.

But the moment they'd stepped inside the warehouse, Gus knew something bad was going to happen. He didn't know what, he didn't know when – but he _knew_ something very bad was lurking in wait for them. At first Gus thought he was just very scared, but then he realized it was more than that. He'd never gotten that prickling feeling on the back of his neck before, and he couldn't say he'd been missing out.

He had just been about to yell that maybe they should go, when Shawn yelled, "Got it!" He had shown Gus how the drug packets were sewn into the faux-fur hoods and fleece coat linings, before disappearing behind some crates to put the coats back so they could go.

Gus had _almost_ relaxed, waiting for Shawn to finish re-hiding their evidence. So of course, _that_ was when it happened. There was the _click _of a gun's safety being turned off, and he spun to see a burly man standing there pointing a gun at him.

"Well, what have we here?"

-xxx-

The next few minutes passed very quickly for Gus. One moment, he was standing at gun-point – the next, Shawn was the target, and he was babbling about getting lost and looking for help, motioning towards the door with his eyes, and it was obvious he wanted Gus to run for it.

Gus wouldn't have left Shawn had he even been able to move, but unfortunately before he could do anything, there was a loud noise and suddenly a white-hot fire was spreading throughout his body…

And he couldn't move anymore, couldn't do anything, even though he was pretty sure he heard at least two more gunshots, which probably meant Shawn was dead, but then again so was he (or almost, anyway), and Gus knew he was dying, and something about that seemed a little funny, but it might just be that fact that he could no longer breathe and everything was getting very dark, and he realized all of a sudden that he wasn't going to wake up ever again.

_Damn,_ he thought, _I **knew**__ something bad was going to happen._


	26. Tears: part 3

...And here's the aftermath.

Warning - **Very sad, contains character death.**

**26) Tears (c)**

He woke with tears on his face, and an IV in his arm.

He didn't remember a thing, which suddenly seemed not so bad when he noticed the bandages covering his torso – not to mention the pain flaring throughout him when he attempted to sit up.

He groaned and froze, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he tried to deal with the pain. Finally, after several agonizing minutes, the agony ebbed away and he opened his eyes again, breathing shallowly.

His eyes flitted around the hospital room, taking in odd details that he was positive meant something to him – a pineapple on a bedside table, a coat on a chair, dozens of cards, flowers, and even _balloons_ everywhere – but somehow, none of them rang a bell.

Just then, someone walked through the door, only to stop dead in shock – and a flash of recognition passed through him, gone almost before he acknowledged it, and he hesitantly whispered, "Dad?"

The man in the doorway stared at him a moment longer, then slowly walked forward, pressed the call button, and sat down in the chair pulled close to the bed. "Shawn… How do you feel?"

Shawn – yes; _that_ was his name – frowned, confusion filling him. "I – I don't know… I – Gus?" Suddenly panic filled him, though he still didn't know _why_. "Gus, where's Gus?"

"Calm down Shawn, you're going to hurt yourself." His father – he still couldn't remember a real _name_, just Dad – leaned forward. "Just lay back for now, okay?"

Something about the man's gentle tone seemed horribly _off_, but Shawn didn't know why, any more than he knew why he was here in the hospital panicking over somebody named Gus…

The name, even just thought, caused another flash, and suddenly he had a vivid mental image of a man frowning at him…

_"I don't want to go in there, Shawn. I have a bad feeling about this."_

_"Oh, you always say that, Gus! Come **on**__, we'll just be in and out! I swear it by my new watch."_

Shawn shivered violently, a sudden pain wracking through him. "Gus, where's Gus…" He was no longer aware of his father next to him calling his name, or his own body thrashing in his hospital bed, or even the nurse rushing in and hastily preparing a sedative, his mind instead in a world of memories, jumbled pictures and sounds.

_"Shawn!"_

_"I missed you, Shawn."_

_"Shawn, stop it!"_

_"Leave me alone."_

_"I'll slap you!"_

_"I don't want to go in there, Shawn…"_

**_crack_**_ and there was blood everywhere, and Gus wasn't moving on the ground…_

_"Gus!"_

-xxx-

He woke with tears on his face, and a room filled with people.

None of them were talking, all sitting or standing uncomfortably around the room, looking at cards or out the window or at the floor, none of them looking at him or each-other. He recognized his father, but the two other men and women were completely unfamiliar faces.

Shawn watched them for almost a full minute before speaking. "Where's Gus?"

As one, their eyes shot to his, but he didn't meet any of their gazes, looking frantically around the room. "Where is he?"

His father was still in the chair, and he leaned over. "Shawn, calm down. You can't have another panic attack. Calm down. Breathe."

Shawn swallowed hard and tried to follow his dad's instructions, breathing slowly and deeply, but it was _hard_, because he didn't even know the man and every second that went by was one more that contained memories of Gus

_standing at gunpoint, eyes wide and_

_not moving, still staring at Shawn in shock or **something**__ but he should be running_

_towards the man with the gun, because **he**__ was already lying still on the floor, bleeding and Shawn reached out his arms to snatch the_

_"…watch is mine – hand it over, loser!" and he did toss it over, far over Shawn's head, still annoyed that he'd lost, so it hit_

_his stomach but he didn't care, pulling the gun free and shooting it point-blank into the man's face_

_was unrepentant, and he simply shook his head, "It's not really broken Shawn, it just bounced off a wall – I'm not going to buy you a **new**__ watch_

_ on his arm was responsible for all of this; he'd rip it off but he had to dial, he needed to get help for Gus_

_was out of reach, and he was getting dizzy and he couldn't really see, but Gus was even **less**__ okay_

"…Shawn? I said, are you okay?"

Shawn blinked, then nodded. "I – I'm fine. But please, where's Gus?"

The woman by the door chewed her lip, "I'm sorry Shawn, but we can't really tell you; the doctor said…"

He snapped. "I don't care _what _the doctor said, and if you won't tell me where Gus is, just get out, got it – whoever you are!"

He knew he'd made a mistake the moment the woman blanched and whispered, "Whoever I am?"

Shawn squeezed his eyes tightly shut, took a deep breath, then turned to his father. "Dad, where's Gus?"

His father looked at him seriously, ignoring the woman in the background, who was slowly whispering, "Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god…" and being comforted by the other woman. The tall man by the door looked very uncomfortable and sad, and the last man was staring straight at Shawn, a stiff expression on his face.

"What year is it?"

"Dad, where _is_ he?"

His father – what the _hell_ was his name? – sighed. "Answer my questions, and I promise I'll tell you."

Shawn gritted his teeth but nodded stiffly.

"What year is it?"

The answer came naturally. "2008."

His father nodded. "What's your name?"

"Shawn."

His father swallowed. "Your full name, kid."

Shawn nodded, and opened his mouth – then paused. Wait, what _was_ his full name? It took a minute and he had to watch the look of growing worry on the other's face, before the answer suddenly came to him. "Spencer. Shawn Henry Spencer."

His father let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Okay. Do you recognize any of us? Can you give us names?"

Shawn looked over the group again and opened his mouth, then paused for another long, significant moment. "…Well, you're my dad."

"What's my name?" The man's voice was tight with tension, and something that made Shawn instinctively defensive.

"I – look, give me a break, okay _Dad?_ I just want to know how Gus is, we can do the whole psych eval later."

His father groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Shawn, do you even know who Gus is? Why are you so worried about him?"

Shawn blinked in surprise. "Of course I know who he is. He's like my brother. And who _wouldn't_ be worried if they saw their brother just get _shot_ right in front… of…"

He trailed off.

**_crack_**_, and then Gus fell, with a yell of pain and he was already bleeding; it had hit him in the chest near his heart…_

Shawn suddenly looked up and his eyes met the steely blue ones of the man standing at the foot of his bed, staring at him. His heart sank like a stone, and his mouth formed the word, "Gus?" but no sound came out.

The man at the foot of his bed slowly shook his head, and tears sprang to Shawn's eyes before he even understood why.

Then he was shouting, screaming at them all to get out, get the _hell out_ and he wanted _Gus_, Gus wasn't – where was Gus, just _get out and leave me alone_ where is he, he can't be…

-xxx-

He woke with tears on his face, and a broken watch on his wrist.

And when he looked around he felt a stabbing pain in his chest that had nothing to do with the gunshot wound in his stomach and had everything to do with the fact that Gus wasn't there.

And he cried, memories flashing in his head, memories that he didn't understand but longed for and missed and knew would never be again,

_"Shawn…"_

_a fist bump_

_"Oh yes! I beat you again: take **that**__, Mr. 'I can beat you at any video game'"_

_"What the hell are you doing in my bedroom, Shawn?"_

_shared grins_

_"I swear I will hurt you, Shawn!"_

_"Shawn!"_

_"**Shawn?**__"_

_"Let me out of here, Shawn!"_

_"So where were you this time?"_

_"Are we – are we in **Mexico?**__"_

_a swift hug_

**_crack_**_ of the_

_blood and a still body_

_Shawn couldn't get to him in time_

_"I don't want to go in there, Shawn…"_

Shawn cried silently, aware of nothing but the tears and the voice repeating in his head,

_"I don't want to go in there…"_

_"I don't…"_

_"Shawn…"_

-xxx-

He woke with tears on his face, and no best friend.


	27. Foreign

**27) Foreign**

Expressing his emotions was foreign feeling for Henry Spencer. It made him feel uncomfortable and a little itchy. Especially when he knew he was going to do it with someone who was likely going to laugh at him, like his son.

But still… he felt like he had to say it.

"Look, Shawn…"

Shawn blinked up at him, waiting, and Henry… Henry chickened out. This was impossible. No way could he tell him. Besides, Shawn knew it anyway, right? He'd always known, it wasn't like he thought his father _hated_ him or anything, right?

_No_, whispered a little voice in his head, _he just thinks you don't love him. That's **so**__ much better._

"Dad?"

He realized Shawn was still watching him, fork poised over his potatoes and eyebrows raised. He blinked, then remembered that he'd started to just blurt it out. He almost blushed, embarrassed at himself, and looked at his son.

He cast around for a few moments for something else to say, but finally decided just to drop it. "…Shawn, did you take my compass?"

_Where had **that**__ come from?_****

Shawn's eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head. A little _too_ quickly. Henry glared at him. "Where is it?"

"Nowhere – I didn't take it!"

"That's it Shawn, go up to your room. You can stay there until you decide to tell the truth."

"But _Dad_ –"

Henry shook his head. "I said go."

Shawn rolled his eyes and defiantly took a huge bite of potato, then turned and stomped up the stairs, trying to swallow the wad of food in his mouth. Henry watched him go with a sigh.

_Well, that went well._

-xxx-

"Look, Shawn…"

Henry paused, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. God, he hated doing this! But he had to confess it was long overdue. His son had never heard him say those three words – and he was already _thirty_, for chrissakes!

However, overdue or not, it was just as hard to force the words out as it had been twenty years ago, the last time he'd tried. And it didn't help that he _knew_ Shawn was going to mock him now, whereas last time it had just been a mere possibility. Now it was a certainty.

Still… He should really tell him…

"Look, Shawn…"

He glanced up, feeling extremely awkward. Across the table, Shawn was waiting, fork paused halfway to his mouth, and eyebrows raised, in a pose that was eerily similar to how he'd waited for his father to continue twenty years ago. In fact – yes, he was actually eating mashed potatoes, too, just like last time!

Henry cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and prepared to speak. It was finally time to tell the kid how much he meant to Henry, time to tell him he loved him. _Come on Henry, you can do this…_ "Shawn, I l –" his eyes lit upon an empty space on his desk and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out: "Shawn, did you take my compass?"

At his statement, both men's eyes widened – Shawn's in guilt, and Henry's in shock that he had _actually_ asked the exact same question as twenty years ago. But still – Shawn _had_ stolen his compass again, or else he wouldn't be shoving one last forkful of potato in his mouth and quickly shoving his chair out.

He spoke through an extremely full mouth. "Wook a' da dime – gotta go!"

Henry stood too. "Shawn! Shawn, don't – Shawn, get back here!"

His son was already out the door and by the time he followed, Shawn was strapping on his helmet and straddling his motorcycle.

"Shawn!"

He just grinned and waved, finally having swallowed his mouthful. "Love you too, Dad!"

Then his motorcycle roared and he was gone, leaving Henry standing alone, with a table full of dirty dishes and with no clue where his extremely expensive _replacement_ (from the last time Shawn had borrowed it) compass was.

But still…

_"Love you too, Dad!"_

Henry smiled. Maybe the night hadn't been such a loss, after all.


	28. Sorrow

Warning - **very sad.** Although really, the prompt should tell you that much.

Contains spoilers for events mentioned in (and people from) _Murder?...Anyone?...Anyone?...Bueller?_, and for #5 of the one-shots in here, _Seeking Solace_.

**28) Sorrow**

Gus sighed, checking his watch. Once again, Shawn was late – and _he_ was the one who had asked Gus to meet him in the first place! God, he could be so _annoying_ sometimes…

He heard footsteps approaching him from behind, and spun around, angry and ready to yell at Shawn – but stopped the moment he actually saw his friend.

Shawn was walking slowly, head down, not even bothering to shield himself from the pouring rain. It was so different from his usual bounce that Gus was stunned into silence, especially when his friend lifted his head and brushed his long, wet hair out of his eyes. "Hi buddy."

Gus couldn't help but stare. Shawn looked awful; his eyes were bloodshot and had huge bags underneath them, he had a black eye, and his ever-present smile was replaced by a frown that settled deep into his face, creating unfamiliar and unwelcome lines.

"Wh-what happened to you?"

Shawn's lips curved into a slight grin, but it lacked all of his normal happiness. "You talking about the black eye? Great, isn't it? I got it from Abigail's brother after I stood her up. This'll totally boost my rep. I'm such a bad-ass now; it's _awesome_."

They were the right words, but… something was lacking. Gus blinked. "You stood Abigail up?"

Shawn shrugged, "Yeah, kinda."

Gus gaped at him, and opened his mouth to say something; but at the closed-off look on Shawn's face, he reconsidered, shelving the issue for the moment.

"So, is that why we're here?"

Shawn shook his head. "No way dude. If I wanted to tell you about my black eye, I could just wait till tomorrow morning. It's not like it's going to disappear overnight. Nope, that's not why we're here."

He still hadn't stepped out of the rain, and his clothes were plastered to his skin now. Gus looked him up and down somewhat nervously. "Then why? And if you're planning on jumping off the bridge into the river, I'm telling you no right _now_. I don't _want_ to drown, regardless of what you might think."

Shawn chuckled. "No way dude, in rain like this? Even _I'm_ not that crazy." He bit his lip and looked at Gus. "You came in the car, right?"

Gus nodded wordlessly and Shawn flashed him another one of those odd not-quite-right grins. "Great, let's go."

Gus followed him warily. Normally he wouldn't let Shawn lead him _anywhere_ without knowing exactly where he was going, in a car especially, but something had been so off about the whole evening that he found himself agreeing without even thinking twice.

-xxx-

Twenty minutes later they arrived at their destination. Looking out the window, Gus' heart sank.

There was no telling _what _Shawn might do in a sporting goods store.

But to his surprise, Shawn went about his business quickly and efficiently, getting an assortment of camping materials – a tent, a lantern, a tarp for rain, some dried food, and a few other things – without a single word of explanation, _or_ joke.

The joke thing worried Gus most.

By the time they'd exited the building (to his surprise, Shawn had paid for his own purchases – and with his _own_ cash, not his father's credit card for once) Gus was very nervous. Shawn had only bought enough supplies for one person, so at least he wasn't being included in this apparent little camping trip… but on the other hand, why not? And why camping gear? Shawn absolutely _hated_ camping. And even more than _that_, why _now?_

Why now, in the early evening, in a torrential rain, on a Monday, with a black eye and bags under his eyes? With a significant lack of smiles and with forced jokes and a frown that took over his face whenever he wasn't smiling a disturbing little grin that just didn't look _right? _Why?

None of his questions were answered when they made a second stop at Bosseigh High School, where Shawn left Gus in the car as he pulled a disturbingly large ring of keys from his jacket pocket and dashed inside, exiting nearly half an hour later with a backpack that was obviously stuffed to the brim, and carrying a sleeping bag under one arm.

Gus opened his mouth to ask Shawn _something_, but this time Shawn didn't even look at him as he got in the car and drove away.

-xxx-

He parked the car outside of some caves, not that far from the school, but still secluded and not easily found unless you were looking for them. Getting out of the car, Shawn began to unload his camping supplies and set them up in a cave, as Gus watched incredulously. It was only after he'd finished putting up his tent and was beginning to unroll his sleeping bag inside of it, that Gus finally overcame his shock enough to speak.

"Shawn, what the hell is going on?"

Shawn finished with his sleeping bag, and began to pull things from the overstuffed backpack. A pillow, a radio, some clothes, toiletries, a few books…

"I'm camping out here for a few days. Thanks for the lift, by the way."

Gus continued staring at his friend in shock. "Wait, you're staying here for a few days? _Here?_ But – _why?_"

Shawn shrugged. "I needed a break from Mom and Dad, and they already know I always crash at your place, since they found that sleeping bag under your bed that one time. So I decided to go camping. And I can walk to school from here."

Gus blinked a few times, then switched tactics. "Okay, but what about that thing with Abigail? You've wanted to go out with her all year; why stand her up now?"

Shawn drew in a sharp breath, and turned his head away from Gus as he said, in a voice that desperately tried to be nonchalant but failed, "I guess I just was in it for the chase, that's all."

Gus narrowed his eyes. "Shawn."

Shawn groaned, and then did something entirely unexpected: he stopped taking random items out of his backpack, sat back, and dropped his head into his arms.

Gus finally joined him in the tent, sitting cross-legged as he watched his best friend nervously. "Shawn? Are you okay?"

When Shawn replied, after a long pause, his voice was muffled by his arms, but Gus could swear he heard tears in it. "No, Gus, I'm _fine_. I just ignored the girl I've wanted to go out with for over a year, because I was too _scared_ to talk to her, and I haven't gone home in a week because I'm just _fine._"

Gus was already replying to Shawn's first statement when the significance of the second hit him. "Shawn, everyone gets nervous sometimes, I'm sure if you explain she'll – you haven't been home in a week?"

Shawn shrugged, head still buried in his knees. "Yeah."

"But – where have you _been?_ Why haven't they called me demanding to know where you were?"

One arm emerged from the Shawn-huddle to gesture expressively. "I've been staying with people. Doug, Katie, George, John, Claude, Frank… I've been calling home and telling them."

His voice, muffled though it was, was miserable as he muttered, so quietly Gus barely heard him, "Leaving messages on the machine, anyway…"

Gus' eyes widened at the news. "Shawn… How long has it been since you actually spoke to one of them?"

Another shrug. "I talked to Mom on the phone for a few minutes on Wednesday."

Gus couldn't stop himself. "Shawn, it's Monday. You seriously haven't even talked to either of your parents in five days and they aren't _worried?_"

Suddenly Shawn's head snapped up from his legs, glaring at Gus – and yes, those red eyes _were_ from crying – "Thanks Gus, I wasn't fully aware of just how pathetic my home life is; but now, with your help, I think I finally understand!" He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. "Look, Gus… You should probably go home. You're – you're going to miss dinner. Your mom will be worried." His voice cracked a little, and both boys were fully aware of the irony of what Shawn was saying.

Gus looked at his best friend, very worried for him. "Shawn, are you sure you want to…"

Shawn's steady gaze met his, and he nodded once. His hazel eyes were filled with determination and an emotion Gus had never seen before, one that made him at once horribly sad for his friend, angry at Shawn's parents for putting it there, and shamefully pleased that _he_ wasn't experiencing it.

"Yes, Gus." Shawn's gaze didn't waver; in fact, he barely blinked as he spoke, let alone look away. "I just… need to get away for a little while, okay? I still have to go to school, or else they'll call home and then they'll realize I'm gone, but for now, I just need to… I need to stay out of that house for a while. And I can't keep staying at people's houses; they'll get suspicious. I'd stay with you, but… after they caught us last time, your mom always checks on you, and besides, that's the first place anyone would check. Just… please, Gus, just trust me, okay? I'll just stay here for a little while."

Gus chewed his lower lip. "How long?"

Shawn ran a hand through his dripping hair. "I… I don't…"

"How long, Shawn?"

Shawn looked up and met his eyes again. "I promise I'll come home as soon as they figure out I'm not there."

Something about the statement was just so _sad_, that Gus had to look away, tears coming to his eyes. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and nodded. "Okay. But, Shawn – "

Shawn shook his head. "You can't tell them. I want… I want to know how long it takes them to realize. I _need_ to know."

Gus felt hot shame flushing his cheeks, but he nodded. Leaning forward without a word, he gave Shawn a long hug, surprising his best friend with the action they hadn't done in several years. Then he pulled away without a word, and left the tent, exiting the cave too before looking back.

The sight of Shawn sitting alone in the tent, staring after him silently, with a broken little grin that he knew was meant to be reassuring, broke his heart, and he was glad for the rain, because with it falling on his face, he could pretend he wasn't crying.

"You'll be home soon, Shawn. It won't be long."

Both of them knew he was simply trying to convince both of them that what he was saying was true, and suddenly it all became too much for Gus. With a quickly mumbled, "See you tomorrow," he bolted for his car, not looking back.

-xxx-

Driving back home, Gus avoided the route that led him past Shawn's house and played happy music on the radio, humming along as he tried to distract himself from the evening's events and focus on an excuse he could give his mother.

But the look in Shawn's eyes, that unnamable expression that hurt him so deeply inside, wouldn't leave Gus, and all night he was quiet and distracted.

It was late at night, trying fruitlessly to sleep and not think about Shawn, in his dark bedroom, when Gus finally thought of a word that fit the look in his best friend's eyes, the look he never wanted to see again; the look that was still haunting him, and that he knew would continue to haunt him for _years._

Sorrow.


	29. Happiness

This is just plain goofy. Slight spoilers for the flashback in _Ghosts_.

_--_

**29) Happiness**

When Shawn was little, he had a bowl cut, simple and cute, not to mention easy to maintain. Actually, at the time he tended to think of everything _but_ his hair, being too busy with things like playing outside, trying (and failing) to get a dog, and building the best secret tree-house ever (he gave up after the fourth day).

But as he grew older and his father's hairline receded, he began to get worried. As he went through his rebellious faze, he began to grow it out longer, in a style similar to his favorite character from _The Breakfast Club_, John Bender. But aside from the whole rebel thing, that haircut didn't really fit with his happy-go-lucky personality, so he cut it soon after.

Throughout the road-trip years, Shawn had experimented with many different styles, figuring that if he was going to lose it all soon anyway, he might as well have some fun with it. By the time he turned twenty-five, he had had a Mohawk, a beard, a buzz cut, hair down to his shoulders, and many different variations on short hair. He'd gone through all the colors of the rainbow several times over, and mixed-and-matched as well. But it was on his twenty-fifth birthday that it occurred to him that he _wasn't_ losing hair.

The thought shocked him. He'd grown up watching his father's hairline beat a rapid retreat, and he'd always expected to have the same fate early on in life. But as the next few years went by, and his hairline remained steady and strong, he began to stop choosing wild, ridiculous styles, and finally began searching for the one true haircut that fit his personality.

He decided on something relatively short right away, but even so it took him almost two years and it finally was simply the result of a long week of partying and hair-neglect when Shawn found The Perfect Haircut.

He'd woken dry-mouthed and furry-tongued, alone for the first time in seven days, lying on the kitchen counter and wearing nothing but someone else's Christmas tree boxers, still clutching a beer in his hand, at five-thirty in the afternoon. Groaning, he'd swallowed a few painkillers for the pounding in his head, and hopped in the shower, quickly washing his hair before stepping out and looking around for some clothes.

He passed the mirror twice before stopping dead and staring at it, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. A strange feeling swelled in his gut and he could swear he heard angels singing as he took in the sight of his messy, sticking-up hair, and unshaved and stubbly chin and cheeks.

It was something he'd been searching for longer than ten years.

And it was _beautiful_.

Shawn's hangover had disappeared like magic, and he'd almost immediately thrown another party in celebration. It was pineapple-themed and lasted almost twelve days before the last people finally went home and Shawn was kicked out of his apartment. He'd never had so much fun from a simple party before in his life.

But there was something more the whole time, something that grew inside him and burst into a gleeful bloom the next time he saw his father, with his still-receding hairline, and even purposefully bald Gus. It was more than just satisfaction or even finally beating his dad at something – although that was a large part of it.

No, this feeling was something better. Something felt simply _complete_ about his life now, and it took Shawn a while to realize what it was: for once, he was truly _happy_.

Completely and utterly happy.


	30. Under The Rain

**30) Under The Rain**

Juliet O'Hara had always enjoyed rain. The smell of the streets after it stopped, the way the entire world was transformed when it rained hard, even just walking outside during a drizzle and feeling the rain falling on her face. It always made her smile.

Shawn Spencer, on the other hand, _hated_ rain. He hated the way it caught in his hair and dripped down his face, the way it locked him inside whenever it rained hard, and the way his clothes stuck to skin whenever he got wet. Even the mention of rain made him scowl.

So when Juliet appeared at his door, grinning widely and soaked from head to toe one night, Shawn scowled and stepped back. "What are you doing Jules? Don't you have an umbrella?"

Shawn wasn't sure exactly what happened next, but he knew she had said, "I would have thought _you_, of all people, would be the one to like dancing in the rain," and now here they were, standing outside his apartment, with semi-heavy rain pouring down on their heads and no sight of anyone else. The entire world had retreated inside away from the rain – everyone except Juliet.

Shawn groaned as he felt drops of water beginning to slide down the back of his neck. "Jules, are you drunk? Or maybe insane?"

She just smiled widely and dragged Shawn farther away from the protection of his building. "Oh come on, Shawn! You really don't enjoy this?"

Shawn shivered, hugging himself as he followed Juliet. "No, Jules, I've _always_ wanted to drown without even being underwater! It's a dream come true!" She rolled her eyes and he sighed.

"Shawn… Just give it a try! Enjoy it! Let yourself go!" She let go of his arm and spun in a circle, flinging her arms out wide and dropping her head back. "Come _on,_ Shawn!"

Later, Shawn was never sure what it was that made him join her. Maybe it was because he was growing used to the cold and wet, or because he hated being the guy who wouldn't do things, or because Juliet spinning in front of him, a wide grin on her face, made his heart leap – but for whatever reason, he began to slowly smile.

Abandoning his hunched posture that hadn't been doing him any good anyway, Shawn straightened, and walked towards Juliet, grabbing her arms and spinning with her. She screamed when he picked her up and laughed when he tried to waltz with her, and then out of nowhere, slapped his shoulder and pronounced, "You're It!" before running off down the street.

Later, Shawn wasn't sure what it was that motivated him as he chased after her, a wide grin on his face, soaked through his clothes, but whatever it was, he ran faster than he could ever remember. He caught her less than two blocks away, reaching out and catching her hand, tugging her close to him, like before when they'd energetically waltzed around.

He smiled, reaching a hand up to brush a strand of hair off her face – and then, everything changed. The rain wasn't fun or annoying – it was romantic, and the pale light from the streetlamp lit Juliet's face, and he leaned forward and kissed her.

It was soft and sweet, and Shawn closed his eyes, experiencing every moment to the fullest, because he knew any second know she'd pull away and that would be it, but this moment was just so perfect…

Their lips parted, and both sighed contentedly, then looked up at the other. Shawn took a deep breath to say something, but before he could, Juliet pulled away from him, and he closed his eyes tightly, disappointment written on his face. Of course, she didn't want to talk to him right now, why would she? She'd come to visit him as a friend and then he'd kissed her and probably ruined everything, but it was worth it because that _kiss_ was –

"Shawn? Are you coming?" Shawn blinked and looked up. Juliet was standing a few feet away, holding out her hand with a smile.

"Wait, you… wha– "

She rolled her eyes and reached out to grab his hand, tugging him along. "Come on Shawn."

Shawn followed her, dumbfounded, as she walked through the rain with a satisfied smile. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, stopping for a moment to lean back against him. He stood still and let her, still shocked.

"I love the rain," Juliet pronounced, twisting her head up to smile at him, and Shawn felt himself begin to grin back.

He wrapped his arms around her once more, leaning his head on hers, ignoring the wetness dripping down his face and sticking his clothes to his body. "Me too."


	31. Flowers

Warning - **Seriously angsty and sad.**

Inspired by the quote at the beginning. Contains spoilers for _Weekend Warriors_, _Ghosts_, and _Murder?...Anyone?...Anyone?...Bueller?_

_--_

**31) Flowers**

_You might think this is easy for me/But there's a lot of things you don't know/You don't care, you don't want to see _– Dispatch; _Hey, Hey_

No one really wants to examine Shawn's gifts; Shawn knows this, and is grateful for it. Because he doesn't like being the way he is, except when he does, and it hurts when he thinks about it too much.

Gus, for instance, doesn't care to examine in too much depth Shawn's gifts – he works with the observational skills and is okay with the skills Henry taught Shawn, but if Shawn does something that he knows he could _never_ do, like reconstructing the Civil War Reenactments battlefield perfectly from the memory of seeing it – and not even actively studying it – for only a couple of minutes – that freaks Gus out. He _knows_, logically, exactly what Shawn's memory does, but he doesn't like to think about what it means. Gus just accepts it and moves on.

Most other people are easy to fool; before because Shawn just didn't tell them things, and now because they think he's psychic. Inserting personal facts into conversations is a lot easier when he can pretend it's all messages from beyond rather than details he's picked up when watching or talking to them.

And Shawn is grateful for that too; he doesn't like having to explain just _how_ he knows these things because no matter what he says, the reaction is never good and there's that sick _curiosity_ that is always the next step; the same kind of curiosity people get from circus side shows and it always makes Shawn feel slightly queasy and ready to run.

His dad was never concerned with the whys and wherefores of Shawn's talents; all he wanted to do was exploit them, to use them to create the **Perfect Cop**. And because Henry was Henry, and because Shawn was Shawn, in the end Henry had succeeded even if he never knew, because Shawn had every single lesson pounded into his brain, written on it in indelible space ink, and they influenced everything he did.

What Henry didn't count on, and what no one ever considered, was Shawn's secret weapon. It was his memory, of course, that and his observation, because _nothing_ was special about Shawn without involving those two curses. Shawn remembers everything; and _everything_ contains more than just lectures – it's full of conversations, disagreements, arguments, rules…

Every time Shawn sees his father it all assaults him: a wave of memories, vivid in every detail. He can remember the look on Henry's face the day he threw Shawn in jail, or the sound of his voice screaming at Shawn's mother when Shawn wished they would just _shut up_, or his obsession with turning Shawn into the **Perfect Cop**, but his inability to acknowledge whenever Shawn made a step in that direction.

Or at least, it used to. Shawn knows that he's allowing his resentment to color his memories, but he can't help it and most of the time he just doesn't care. The problem with that is that when he finds out that it was his mother that left, every single one of those memories shifts on him; he can no longer count on them to make him angry as he always used to, because now they just make him sad and vaguely sick, and once more Shawn curses his memory because he can close his eyes and picture an argument from seventeen years ago and realize his father, who had always been the bad guy, was really the victim all along.

But since no one else thinks about this, no one else knows.

Not a soul knows that Shawn doesn't remember where his high school gym is because he's spent fourteen years forcing himself to forget how much it hurt, being picked last for dodgeball as a _freshman_ – because Shawn has always needed to be accepted, and that was one of the few times he wasn't.

No one else knows that Shawn doesn't remember the football team because he's made himself block out the memories of four years of watching Abigail cheerlead, even if it means purposefully losing four years of his school life.

No one else knows that despite over a decade of effort, all it takes is one trip back and Shawn is ready to close his eyes and relive it all over again. They don't know why he was obsessed with movies and a murder case the entire reunion – they just chalk it up to Shawn being Shawn and don't bother to think he might be trying to distract himself from heading back down that road.

Not even Gus knows that Shawn nearly didn't go, or that it's taken nearly _two years_ of frequent visits back to his old house just to get to the point where every time he walks through the front door, he doesn't relive his mother walking out of it for the last time.

And if Shawn believed in a God, he'd thank him for that blessing, because if anyone knew he would be subject to those _looks_ he'd only ever received a few times over twenty years ago but can still picture perfectly in his head every time he comes in danger of being found out.

And the fact that no one knows is the best thing about his life, because it means they don't pity him or look at him any more differently than they have to – they're forced to, at least to some extent, simply because of Shawn's exuberant personality, which itself was created so that they wouldn't look at him with that _curiosity_ and _pity _he hates, which leads him back to the beginning in a vicious circle.

But underneath all that, deep down inside, it hurts. Because Shawn knows – thanks to his _**damn**_ observation and _**damn**_ memory and _**damn**_ lessons – that not only do they _not_ know, but they don't _want_ to know.

His mother pretends he's normal. His father simply doesn't care. The public in general – which includes everyone from strangers to any girlfriend he's ever had to coworkers to friends to even the police station and Juliet who by herself means more than all the aforementioned people but somehow remains in the same category – believe his lies and don't question him for that reason. Gus, perhaps, comes closest – if he ever really _thought_ about it, he might know, but he remains firmly in denial. Even _Lassiter_, who doesn't believe a word about Shawn's psychic ability and claims to want to find out what's _really_ going on – even _Lassiter_ doesn't make any effort to figure it out, because as much as he protests it, Shawn helps him and he doesn't really want to get rid of that help.

And since Shawn knows, he resents, because would it really take that much damn effort to simply _want_ to know more about him? Would it really be too much for them to handle? – because _he_ handles it _every_ _fucking __**day**_.

So there's a reason why Shawn likes happy things, why he's always been a little bit too much of a child, and why he hates flowers, and though it might seem to have nothing to do with any of his issues, it's all tied together, deep down where only Shawn can find it and where he hates to visit.

Because he needs to live in denial of the truth or else he won't be _able_ to live.

Because if he takes up all their energy just making them cope with him, he can pretend they're too busy _dealing_ with him to _think_ about him.

Because every time he sees one, he thinks about what people send them for – congratulations, pity, compassion – and he wants someone to be able to feel that for _him_.

No one knows any of this. No one wants to know. And Shawn knows why.

He can't ever forget.


	32. Night

Just some good old Shawn/Gus friendship fluff. Contains spoilers for _Gus Walks Into A Bank_.

So I've finally caught up with what I've already written. This means that no more crazy 20-chapters-a-day madness. In fact, it may take months before a new one appears. But don't worry, I'm not abandoning it.

_--_

**32) Night**

It's a little-known secret that Gus is afraid of the dark.

It's an even more little-known secret that Shawn is, too.

Gus had always been afraid of the dark, but he denied it, just like he denied that he owned a night-light ("It's so I don't trip when I go to the bathroom, Shawn!"), or that he liked geeky stuff like _American Duos_ in public, and he was used to it.

But with Shawn, it's new.

He never used to be afraid of the night. Not even when he was a little kid. Not even though he knew so much about the reality of people, how twisted so many of them really are.

Shawn was always very good at deluding himself.

But for some reason, he isn't anymore. Shawn can't seem to lie to himself the same way he can to the rest of the world. Maybe it's the cases he's been taking on – they seem to be getting more and more serious lately, and it's either his imagination, or the world at large has decided to get just a little bit darker.

Whatever the reason, it is now a fact that Shawn Spencer the Fearless King of the World (which is his screen name on the nickelodeon games website) is, to put it frankly, more scared of the dark than of his father.

Every time he walks out at night, he can barely stop himself from glancing over his shoulders, and he imagines that he can hear people following him, and it's become so bad he can't even walk home from the pub near his house anymore, he has to take his bike.

It's not even the _dark_ Shawn is so afraid of; it's the night. The stars above him, the sounds of animals on the air, that coldness that you would never expect in California…

Something about it causes him to shiver and his spine stiffens, and he looks around him desperately, and his rational brain fails him.

And the only thing that can relieve the pressure that will begin to build in his chest, the only thing that halts him from being kept up later by terrible nightmares – is having Gus by his side.

With Gus next to him, the night doesn't bother Shawn, because when Gus is near him, it's easy for Shawn to keep it at bay, with their witty banter, their instinctive knowledge of each-other that goes deeper than anything Shawn has ever had with anyone else, and lasts longer, too.

And even though Shawn is pretty darn good at deluding himself, he can't help but admit, if only to himself – because _no one_ knows that he's afraid of the night – that it hasn't started because of the ferocity of his recent cases, or the pressure to be responsible, or Juliet maybe not liking him back.

Deep down, somewhere Shawn tries not to go, he knows that he's only been afraid of the night since Gus was held up in a bank for several hours, and he had to cope with the fact that maybe Gus might die.

And maybe that's the reason he's never mentioned that hug Gus gave him, or teased him about saying "I love you", like he normally would (come on, they're _guys_, they don't talk about _love_).

It might not even make sense, Shawn being afraid of the night, because Gus was captured in the middle of the day, and if he had been shot, it would have been in the middle of the day – but the images Shawn associates with his friend in danger, his brother being dead, is that of being outside on a dark night, entirely alone.

But when Gus is there – or even just hearing his voice on a phone; that works too – Shawn isn't afraid of the dark, why would he be?

Because Gus is there, with him, and even if he didn't say it, he loves him too.


	33. Expectations

Hey, **Silvercharm:** this one is for you. Thanks for giving me the idea/motivation, and I hope you like it.

This is a continuation of prompt number **20 (Fortitude)**, so read that first. Same warnings: **sad**, **deathfic**.

Sorry, the illness isn't explained at all. I know nothing about medicine and stuff, so you really can't blame me.

...

**33) Expectations**

Shawn had not expected this. Actually, he tried never to _expect_ anything, because the word didn't hold fond memories for him, but still – if he'd expected anything, it wasn't this.

Juliet – bright, cheerful, tough Juliet – was sick.

She had been, for almost two and a half years now. And she wasn't really on a bowling team, either. No, every week she went to the doctor for a check-up and medication, and she was supposed to die in less than eight months and how the hell had he _missed_ this?

Shawn stood, and walked out into the parking lot. With slow, measured movements, he put on his helmet, got onto his bike, and drove off.

He arrived back in town a week later, and went straight to Juliet's door.

Three knocks and she opened it, eyes red and hair up in a messy ponytail, stray strands falling across her face. She gasped when she saw him, and said, "Shawn!"

She was opening her mouth to say more, when her eyes met his and she froze, because it was written all over his face – _he knew._

And her face crumpled, and her hands were suddenly gripping the door all too hard, fingers turning white with pressure, and she had that haggard, run down expression that Shawn hated, and they were still staring at each other.

He reached out and put a hand on her cheek, brushing a thumb along her cheekbone, still with an expression that was all too serious, and Juliet gasped.

Then she was in his arms, sobbing, and his face was buried in her hair and he was rocking her back and forth, rubbing her back soothingly, and her hands were fisted in his shirt, hot tears wetting the fabric, and they were still standing outside her door, right in plain sight to anyone walking down the street, but that was the last thing on either of their minds.

Shawn's hand, stroking Juliet's long hair, was shaking, and when he pressed his face into her shoulder, she knew she wasn't the only one crying.

-.-.-

Juliet stayed close to Shawn's side, his arm wrapped comfortingly around her shoulder, and her face was so white and sad that Lassiter couldn't bring himself to make any sharp remarks. That and the serious, solemn expression the psychic – wasn't he out of town? Something Guster had said about yet another unannounced road trip – wore, instantly put him on high alert, a horrible hole in his gut that promised _bad things_ and he stood. "What's wrong?"

Juliet opened her mouth but didn't say anything, and for a moment it seemed as if she was about to run, but Shawn's arm tightened around her shoulders, and she sagged against his side.

"I – I'm sick."

Her voice was hoarse and Carlton knew she wasn't talking about the flu. The pit in his stomach became a black hole and he swallowed.

-.-.-

She was crying again, even though she _hated_ to cry, and Buzz's face, so eternally cheerful, was crushed, his tall frame suddenly awkward as he bent down to envelop her in a tight hug that actually lifted her off the ground.

Buzz was crying too.

-.-.-

All day long, people were coming up to her, telling how much they liked her and would miss her, and crying, and Juliet wanted to scream.

But then Gus arrived, and after a few more tears and a hug (his grip was even tighter than Buzz's), Shawn put his arm around her shoulder again and the two of them – three once Juliet joined in – began discussing whether or not Heaven had a special pineapple patch and if one pigged out during their last few weeks, would they be fat Up There?

And Lassiter snapped at them and the Chief surprisingly interjected her belief that Heaven had a gigantic Twinkie warehouse (all the boys, even Carlton's, faces lit up) before dragging them off to work on a case.

Juliet thought that maybe it wasn't so bad, them knowing.

-.-.-

She got way more hugs now, from near-strangers in the police station to Buzz, once a day, to Gus, who gave her a tight hug every time he saw her, to even Lassiter, who just turned and looked at her one night on stakeout, then leaned over and gave her a long, tight hug that seemed to go on forever, and that Juliet melted into, tears slipping down her face.

But Shawn didn't hug her, not after he first found out.

She missed it.

-.-.-

Shawn went to Lassiter, but when he found him, shooting row after row after row of little ceramics, he knew he couldn't put his own worries on the other man. Gus was going through it too, and besides, Shawn knew that they would need each other – _after_ – not now.

His mom might love him, but she would also just psychoanalyze him, and that was the _last_ thing he needed.

So he went to his dad.

It started with him barging in and talking, and it ended in the two of them, sitting side by side on Henry's back porch, looking at the sunset, each with a beer in their hands, and Henry saying, "Will it be any easier if she doesn't know? Or will you just regret it?"

Shawn tilted his bottle back and finished it without a word, but when Henry put a hand on his shoulder, he closed his eyes and leaned into it.

-.-.-

"Jules."

Shawn's face was serious once again, and Juliet bit her lip hard. She really, really just needed a hug from him – she'd already had at least five today, but she needed one from _Shawn_ and he was here at her door – so without thinking, she just stepped forward, launching herself into his arms.

He made a soft noise in the back of his throat, squeezing her so close she felt like she might leave an imprint on his chest, and it was what she'd been missing for a week and a half, ever since he'd last hugged her. So she closed her eyes, squeezed her arms around his neck, and breathed in his smell.

Suddenly, Shawn was pushing her away, back up against the door, and Juliet blinked her eyes open in shock and more than a little hurt.

Shawn reached up, slid his hands into his hair, and pulled hard, closing his eyes as if in pain. He groaned, then glanced up at her – and suddenly she wasn't standing alone, because he was up in front of her, incredibly fast, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek and pull her face up.

And he kissed her.

Juliet thought she might have made a shocked noise, but she wasn't positive – all she knew was that she was kissing back, and his other hand had slid around behind her neck, and hers were on his shoulders and they were kissing and kissing and her head was buzzing –

She pulled back. "Shawn – what – "

He was staring at her, still looking all too serious, even as he babbled: "Jules, I meant to wait and I wasn't even sure that this was true but then I found out and I couldn't stand it, I had to leave for a whole week and I couldn't even hug you because I knew that you were going to leave me and I didn't want it to hurt any more than it already would but I visited my dad and he was right, he's always right, and – " He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment; when he opened them it was too look deep into hers and say, "Juliet Anne O'Hara, I am in love with you, and – " he stepped back, letting go of her, kneeling down and pulling a ring out of his pocket. "I'm not sure if I can get a beach in Antigua, but will you marry me anyway?"

Juliet's mouth opened in shock, and she stared at Shawn for several long moments before she slowly reached out and took the ring from his hand, studying it.

"But, Shawn, I'm going to – "

"I don't care."

She blinked, tearing up again, and Shawn stood up, reaching out and hugging her again.

Juliet rested her chin on his shoulder, looking at the ring in her hands, wrapped around his neck, and slid it onto a finger.

She turned her head slightly to the left and whispered in his ear, "Okay."

-.-.-

The ceremony was beautiful. A bright, sunny day, blue skies without a cloud, and even a butterfly fluttering around.

Shawn was dressed in his tux – one he'd actually _bought_ this time – and only half-listening to the man talking, his eyes fixed on Juliet.

Gus stood faithfully to his right, Henry on the other side.

When it came time, Shawn reached out a hand, the hand with a ring in it, and slid it over her finger, before pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

He closed the coffin, then turned and walked away without another word.

He hadn't expected this.


	34. Stars

Hey readers, I'm back! And with a Buzz oneshot, 'cause I love the pants off that guy. Spoilers for _9 Lives_.

**Anonymous Review Response:**

**silvercharm: **No prob! I'm really glad you liked it... Thanks again, I was proud of that ending, and I kind of meant it to be a surprise, so your reaction was exactly what I was aiming for! Hope you enjoy this chapter too, if you're still reading. :)

* * *

Buzz has always been a little bit like Shawn, in that he never seems to get sad or downtrodden, not even when he'd been calling a self-help hotline because he was afraid about his wedding night. He's been like Gus, too, in his belief in spirits and ghosts and easy amazement at certain things.

Buzz has been like Juliet, always trying to make friends, and he's even been a bit like Chief Vick, with her hard demeanor (not that he has one himself, but that's not the point) melting a little bit whenever she talks about her family, and love in her eyes if you know where to look (or in Buzz's case, even if you don't).

Buzz has always _wanted_ to be like Lassiter, at least just a little bit, because while the man kind of terrifies him, and obviously isn't as happy as Buzz himself is, and even though he doesn't have many (any?) friends and is harsh and stiff, being Head Detective is Buzz's dream job, and also in Buzz's eyes Lassiter's sort of the perfect cop, something he's always aspired to be and at the same time known he could never manage.

Buzz is like his dad, probably naïve, but brave all the same, and he's like his mom, always there with a smile and a shoulder to lean on.

Buzz is like his best friend from eighth grade, Fred Martinez, because they both love cats and video games. He's like his first girlfriend, Ellie Brooks, in the way he's kind of hard to seriously dislike, and Buzz is like his teacher in the Police Academy, Henry Spencer (he never made the connection because they were so _different_), in the way he always rereads any paperwork he's going to send in at least twice.

Buzz is like Francine in how much he loves her and how he always puts on his left sock before his right.

Buzz is like a lot of people, in a lot of different ways, some significant, others not, and sometimes, (the times that he feels sad even if he doesn't show it just like Shawn, the times that he might consider calling a help line again though he's kind of become wary of them) he feels like he's just like stars. Tiny, distant images, hundreds of thousands of specks of light, each originating from another star, each far away, because every single trait Buzz has feels like it's somebody's else, and in reality _Buzz_ is just the black, empty space in between the lights, gaping and nothing.

Sometimes, Buzz feels that way.

But most of the time, Buzz knows that can't be true, or that if it is it doesn't even matter, because compilation of other people or not, he's still his own person, and people _like_ that person, Francine _loves_ that person.

So, yeah, Buzz might be like lots of people, but he _isn't_ them, and he knows that, and most of the time, he really likes the idea that he carries around little pieces of all the people he's known. Most of the time he thinks he's like the stars: he's got all those shining little lights that are beautiful and varied, and everyone loves them, but they wouldn't even show up without that black velvet space they're set in.

Buzz is the background, but at the same time the foreground, of his living portrait of the night sky. And most days, he wouldn't have it any other way.


	35. Hold My Hand

Yay! It's my birthday today... that is, I've officially had this account for a year now. Woot.

Anyway, warnings: **sad**, mentioned **character death**. Shawn/Gus friendship moment.

Oh, and spoilers for _An Evening With Mr. Yang_ - the best episode ever!

**35) Hold My Hand**

_It's been three days and I still can't remember anything but the feel of her hand in mine_, Shawn says, eyes wide with tears and lack of hope, and Gus feels tears of his own spring up.

_Shawn, I understand – and three days isn't enough, I know, but – _It's all that he's going to get, because this is a **serial killer**, and that can't be forgotten, and he wants Shawn to listen to him, he wants Shawn to come with him, and he's just going to keep killing people unless Shawn stops him.

_You __**don't**__ understand, Gus, it's been __**three days**__ and I swear, I don't even remember what that first clue was; forget about solving his riddles. I'm – she was holding my __**hand**_**, **_Gus, she was trying to ask for help, but I didn't __**listen**__ to her, this is __**my fault**__ – she was holding my hand…_

Gus closes his eyes and knows he's going to hate himself forever for this, hate himself and hate Yin Yang forever. _Have you seen the latest note?_

Shawn shakes; not just his head but an all-out full-body shiver. He'd always been a momma's boy and it had never been so sad before. _Shawn – Shawn, it's your dad. It's Juliet._

Shawn's voice cracks, _Wh-ich one?_

Gus hates himself, why does **he** have to tell this to Shawn, **god** – _It's both. Both, Shawn._

Shawn's head drops, and his lips quiver. His eyes are red-rimmed, angry, and the mud and blood from the outdoor movie three nights ago is still splattered all over him. He hasn't changed clothes since his mother was shot in the head. Hasn't washed his hands, either.

_**Gus**__, Gus, I can't – __**Gus…**_ He's sobbing now, and Gus wraps his arms around Shawn, lets him press his sweaty, bloody, dirty head into his shoulder, lets him cry. _Gus... God, she was __**holding my hand**__ and I didn't __**see**__ it, I didn't __**get **__anything. I can't do this, Gus, I can't remember, I – I'm __**not psychic**__, Gus…_

_You don't have to be, Shawn,_ Gus says, and smiles through his own fear and tears. _Just think, Shawn. You can do this. I know you can. And look – if you do this, I promise, I'll give you a week – another Mexico trip. Just no donkeys this time, _And that makes Shawn laugh-sob, fingers digging into Gus's shoulders.

_Is a burro okay?_ He asks pitifully, and Gus knows – just **knows** – that it's going to be okay.

_They're the same thing, Shawn_, he says, and lets go, and Shawn gets up on his own.

_Come on,_ he says, looking dead on his feet, except for the hardness suddenly in his eyes, the steely thread under the lightness of his voice. _I'm going to need Magic-Head for this._


	36. Precious Treasure

Songfic to _Everybody's Fool_ by **Evanescence**. This came out very different from how I originally meant it, but hopefully without making anyone a black-and-white bad guy, something I was trying to avoid.

Warnings - **sad**, angsty. No spoilers.

**36) Precious Treasure**

_Perfect by nature  
Icons of self-indulgence  
Just what we all need  
More lies about a world that_

~*~*~

It took Juliet a long time to start believing. Because honestly, who could be that perfect, so completely right all the time? But Shawn, with his pineapples and his psychic detective agency, with his titles and hand-to-head visions, really seemed to be. The real thing. Genuine. A true psychic, a funny guy, charming, handsome, never serious but always right, and everything that tugged at her heartstrings.

~*~*~

_Never was and never will be  
Have you no shame, don't you see me?  
You know you've got everybody fooled_

~*~*~

It took Juliet a long time to feel like she was being noticed. A long time before she felt like Shawn actually saw her for _her_ – or, saw her and cared, because he'd known her so well from the beginning. It took her forever before she trusted him not to play with her heart. She thought that maybe his happy-go-lucky attitude was just a cover, thought that he felt deeply inside, and a couple of times she got glimpses of that. Shawn projected an image of this fairydust world, sparkling and perfect, and even if it didn't really exist, she thought she might like to join him there occasionally, because in Shawn's world, everything ended well. And anyone spending any amount of time with him felt the same way, Juliet knew, because she could see it in their eyes. They all knew they didn't belong in that dream-world, but all of them longed to rest there, if only briefly.

~*~*~

_Look, here he comes now  
Bow down and stare in wonder  
Oh, how we love you  
No flaws when you're pretending_

~*~*~

And Shawn gave them those glimpses. They all said they were friends with Shawn, but after a while observing, Juliet began to doubt. Not one of her fellow officers – with the exception of Lassiter – talked to Shawn as an equal. They looked up to him, awed and in love with his perfection, swirling through their life like fairydust, making everything brighter, happier for a day. And if Shawn himself had any flaws, if something went wrong, they ignored it, because they were blinded with faith in him. Shawn could make anything right, and always did. No flaws. And Juliet, despite sensing instinctively that this couldn't be possible, allowed herself to get sucked in too, to believe, to bask in Shawn's aura, to fall in love with his perfection.

~*~*~

_But now I know he  
Never was and never will be  
You don't know how you've betrayed me  
And somehow you've got everybody fooled_

~*~*~

And now it was all over. Now, she knew the truth. And she knew she shouldn't be angry with him – he had his reasons – but Juliet couldn't help but feel betrayed. Shawn didn't understand – how could he? She wasn't betrayed because he hadn't told her before now, nor because he hadn't turned himself in. She just couldn't be with him, not now – she just… couldn't.

~*~*~

_Without the mask  
Where will you hide?  
Can't find yourself  
Lost in your lie_

~*~*~

And Juliet saw that Shawn had exposed himself before her. Revealed himself, just a man and not a superhero anymore, no fairydust or dreamscapes, and it was clearly all he could do to make his followers believe in him. It was a strain and effort and far from perfect. He was trapped, now, by his lies, so many people counting on him that he just couldn't let down. Juliet got the feeling that Shawn was lost, was losing himself more everyday, trying to produce miracles.

~*~*~

_I know the truth now  
I know who you are  
And I don't love you anymore_

~*~*~

And yet, somehow, she was still betrayed. Once, despite knowing better, Juliet had been one of those people. One of them that looked to Shawn Spencer with blind adoration, trusted him almost as a god, and he had looked at her, too. Only he had seen a person, not a disciple, had seen a woman, had seen the truth of her with his observant eyes and fallen in love with it. He'd given up his secrets to this woman, loved her enough to step down from his pedestal and encircle her in his arms, two mere mortals.

But Juliet hadn't wanted that. She had fallen in love with the statue of shining bronze and gold, glittering fairydust and miracles and happy endings, and she was lost and disappointed, receiving just a man in return.

~*~*~

_Never was and never will be  
You don't know how you've betrayed me  
And somehow you've got everybody fooled_

~*~*~

That god she had loved never existed, and never would. Juliet had to come to terms with that fact, though it took her a long time. Shawn never understood why – he was devastated, and Juliet felt horrible; the chase had gone on so long, with her showing every sign of wanting to be with him, and then, when he had finally shared himself, bared himself deeply, it was all over. She didn't love him anymore, she cast him aside and wanted to just be friends.

He didn't show it, of course. Not at the station, and not after that first conversation, because he had to hide, had to stay strong, couldn't let his house of lies collapse upon him just because of one blow. He was still fairydust and dreams to anyone else's eyes, and though Juliet promised never to tell, she couldn't look when he acted out his scenes.

Gus hated her now, and Juliet sort of wished he didn't. He – and possibly Lassiter – was the only other person that saw through the façade. But eventually, Juliet gave up. She realized what it was; he had always seen through it, even before it _existed_, and he had loved the boy, eventually the man. He loved the real Shawn and didn't worship some psychic idol, and he couldn't understand just how betrayed she had been, couldn't understand why she couldn't love the man too.

~*~*~

_Never was and never will be  
You're not real and you can't save me  
And somehow now you're everybody's fool_

~*~*~

But Juliet just couldn't. She hadn't ever been in love with Shawn the man – she had loved that glorious god, had loved the shining armor and dashing charisma, had loved that he would always win. She had felt safe with Shawn, thought she could always count on him. She had built him up in her mind's eyes. She had put him on that pedestal herself, she eventually realized, and it was wrong of her to be angry with him when he hopped off. But she was, because she had been counting on him, her fairydust savior.

And now she was stuck with just a man. A man that was wonderful, and really _deserved_ her love, a man that she was being horrible to, who had only been acting out a part she had asked of him all along.

It was then that Juliet realized, and she couldn't hate Shawn anymore, no more than she could love him.

Shawn was just a man, playing out the part everyone asked of him, forced to try to be a god. They were asking him to walk on water and the best he could do was doggy-paddle and hope they didn't notice. He was a slave to them, all those people like she had once been and still was at heart, people who worshiped him and trusted him and loved him and expected the world of him.

Perhaps that was why he loved Gus so much, because Gus was real, and saw that Shawn was, too. Lassiter, too, Lassiter had never believed, and Shawn never left the man alone, probably for that very reason, seeking refuge. He must have trusted her, too. Must have believed that she would understand. Might even have thought she saw the real him, fallen in love with the man, and she had betrayed him.

Because Shawn was everybody's fool, dancing around in a jester's hat, trying to please them, and she couldn't love that man. All she could feel for him was pity.

Juliet looked away when he had visions from then on, looked away and hated herself for being this way. If only she had been just a little more skeptical, if only she had never fallen for the unreachable god – then she could be living in happiness right now. She was stuck longing for the skies when she _knew_ that if she only looked down, she'd find the real Shawn, still a true diamond in the rough, a precious treasure she wasn't appreciating.

But she couldn't. Her eyes were glued to the sky, dreaming of that fairydust god, that psychic power, that more-than-a-man that had dazzled her so completely.

And Juliet hated herself for that.


	37. Eyes

In honor of (and spoilering for, by the way) the fourth season premiere, a little bit about Shawn's relationship confusion with Juliet and Abigail.

* * *

**37) Eyes**

He's serious about Abigail.

Shawn is, really is for once in his life. He's serious, and while he wouldn't go so far as to call it _love_ – in fact, he'd scoff and then bluster freaked-out-edly for a while – there's definitely a deep attachment there. A connection he wants, something that may (or may not) have been partially responsible for his complete _lack_ of responsibility and/or lasting or even emotionally involved relationships ever.

So obviously, important. Serious. Real.

And yet… there's something else. Some_one_ else.

Good lord, Shawn hates himself for thinking even that, because this is _Abigail_, he's already messed up so bad with her, he _needs_ her and how could he ever even think about someone else while he's with her? It's cheating, is what it is, and Shawn doesn't do that. Ever.

He's so incredibly grateful for the code he made in first grade that it is "absolutely not the thought that counts when the thought is against the rules". A bit blunt about the mental mayhem going on, yes, but a very convenient loophole. If a bit tight, since it was thought up by a six-year-old, and not even Shawn is that gutsy.

He's such a hopeless fool.

All this is going to come crashing down, he knows it deep inside, and all he's doing is prolonging the inevitable. Because really, he saw it coming, the answer lay in the length of time he hesitated before making his decision.

But what a douche-ass move it would've been, to walk out on Abigail then. Serial killer or no, if he left (_again_), for another girl no less, he'd never forgive himself. And neither, of course, would she.

Shawn knows all this and he's happy with Abigail and he… really really really likes her, but damnit, there's always _her_ in the background!

Juliet. Jules. The girl who (he can admit it) had become the Abigail of his new life. The one he chased relentlessly, the one he'd be shocked if she agreed, and then would probably be too much of a coward to show up, because he just cared _too much_. She was his new Abigail, the same and yet so, so different, and then the _old_ Abigail, the original Abigail, just popped out of the past and messed everything up.

Not that he resents her. He's happy with her.

But Jules…

It's all, Shawn thinks, her eyes' fault. That's the image he can't get out of his fucking head late at night, those eyes when she actually, _miraculously_, came to him, asked him out, wanted to _try_.

Those eyes, so expressive and _there_, and then when he basically just rejected her, those same goddamn eyes, so blue.

God, they were haunting him worse than Scary Sherry ever could. It killed.

Everywhere he turned, those eyes confronted him, so _alluring_ that he didn't know what to do, but very wrongbadno things.

He wouldn't do them. He wouldn't, but the thoughts wouldn't stop, and Abigail didn't deserve this.

Shawn was caught. Caught between some eyes and a come-true dream. The only question was which would win him over in the end.

At this point, he really didn't know.


End file.
